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Library of the 
University of North Carolina 

Endowed by the Dialectic and Philan- 
thropic Societies. 



v .-4-rr jf^\ 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 


University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 

No. 1 

New Series Vol. 34 



Editorial Comment 3 

Fluff and Fixedness Harris Copenhaver 7 

The Flight H. B. Mock 15 

A Bargain Frank S. Clarvoe 21 

Palace of Pleasure Moses Rountree 26 

An Epilogue Frank Clarvoe 28 

The Way Out /. S. Terry, Jr. 32 

Illusion Chas. G. Tennent 35 

James Whitcomb Riley IV. H. Stephenson 36 

The War and the Universities H. G. Baity 40 

Sketches 46 

Around the Well 52 


University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Editor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. Steele, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau Albert Oettinger 

Frank Clarvoe A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 
William York, Dialectic 

The University of North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

Old Series Vol. 47 No. 1 New Series Vol. 34 

Cbttortal Comment 


Each year the college or university magazine is a new 
publication in that it is usually composed of an entirely 
new set of editors. About the only inheritance from the 
preceding year is a title and a few second-hand manu- 

The new editor moves about in an uncertain air of honor 
and timidity, wondering for weeks how he will "get out" 
the first issue. He consults his predecessor and sometimes 
members of the faculty, but none of them seems to lighten 
his burden. As time for going to press draws nearer, he 
becomes more nervous and in desperation writes out a 
"policy" which lives only through the first issue. 

Having observed the working of "policy" in many stu- 
dent publications, we now feel competent to state one for 
ourselves. It shall be to select from the material at our 
disposal those articles which are well written and, in our 
judgment, will not lower the standard of the Magazine 
issued by our predecessors. As the Forum died a natural 
death last year for the lack of food, so may some other de- 
partment need the services of an undertaker before our 
second issue goes to press. To be brief, our policy is the 
students' policy. 


The University Magazine 


We are informed by the English Department that there 
will be more prizes given for literary work this year than 
ever before. Many will be given by the different publish- 
ing houses, some have already been sent in, others will be 
given by the English Department. ISTo doubt the literary 
societies and the Sigma Upsilon Literary Fraternity will 
continue their cash prizes for the best short story and 
sketch respectively. 

These are honors not to be despised and, besides, ones 
that can be won during spare time — say between supper 
and mail time. They cover all forms of literature, includ- 
ing the sketch, short story, poem and editorial. We will 
be glad to receive your article — in fact we want it and 
in our feeble way will gladly go over it with you and 
offer what constructive criticism we can. 

Don't fool yourself into believing you can't win one of 
these prizes because you haven't had any experience ; these 
prizes have been won before by some fellow who some time 
in his life had never written anything for publication. You 
have the same chance that he once had, — now add a little 
thought and effort and see how well you succeed. 

If you desire your articles published, hand them to any 
member of the editorial staff. 


The Shakespearean Pageant produced by the citizens of 
Chapel Hill and the University students last May was the 
subject of considerable comment just after its presenta- 
tion. It was a success in every way except financial, and 
those who are interested and want to see a bigger and 
better celebration next spring than ever should begin now 
to lay their plans to make the next one a success in this 
respect. If a means for providing the expenses for the 
pageant can be devised, there is little doubt that the insti- 

The University Magazine 5 

tution will become a permanent fixture in the University 

We have already received inquiries from citizens of the 
State wishing to know if there is to be another celebration 
and, if so, at what time it will be held. They explain that 
it is their intention to be present on that occasion. 

Let us have another Shakespearean pageant or some- 
thing of a similar nature, and with this one let us not be so 
selfish as to keep the good of it all to ourselves ; rather let 
us advertise it and give it the publicity that such an under- 
taking deserves. 

There is little need to comment on the benefit to be de- 
rived from such an undertaking. No doubt more people 
got down their Shakespeare volumes and drank sack at 
Eastcheap Inn with Sir John or flirted with the ghost of 
the Noble Dane during the past three or four months than 
ever did before in twice that length of time. Those who 
take part in such celebrations get valuable histrionic as well 
as literary training; the University comes in for its part 
of publicity, and there is a closer relationship established 
among the people of the community and the students. 


Hats off to the new Tar Heel. It is the neatest and 
newsiest college weekly that has appeared on our desk 
this year. Almost every column is filled with well written 
news, while the editorials, written by William Polk, are 
timely, witty and to the point. Nothing like them has 
appeared in the Tar Heel before. 

While these columns are not intended for free advertis- 
ing, we feel called upon to urge every student to subscribe 
for the liveliest college publication of the South, and to 
keep up with the news at Carolina. Seniors and profes- 
sional students who are crowded out of the chapel and 
have heretofore remained in ignorance as to what was hap- 

6 The University Magazine 

pening at the University may now with such a publication 
as the Tar Heel has become, get acquainted with the ac- 
tivities of their own campus. 

We rejoice with Editor Polk, his associates and the en- 
tire campus in the remaking of the Athletic Association's 
old publication. 


The Magazine is a child and likewise a dependency of 
the student body. A board of editors has been elected its 
keeper. They want to be loyal to their trust, but they do 
object to furnishing nourishment for the child. They 
want and insist that the students furnish the material 
necessary to keep the Magazine alive and interesting. So 
if you see fifty per cent of the articles published signed by 
members of the editorial staff, don't criticize the board, 
but get to work yourself. 

If you won't write, boost ; if you can't boost, be a clam. 

The University Magazine 7 

Jf luff anb jf txetmeate 


There are summer schools and summer schools; then 
there is the Summer School of the South, at Knoxville, 
Tenn. Thither teachers repair from all over the Southern 
States — pedagogues who have worn shiny trousers and 
unkempt shocks of hair throughout the year to scrape up 
coin to go on a mild rampage for six weeks; stern school- 
room dragons of dour and melancholy mien, who have dis- 
astrously deprived themselves of complexion aids and silk 
stockings for nine months to garner the shekels to buy gay 
striped skirts, embroidered hose of sheerest silk, and chic 
girlish little hats to catch their principal, who is going to be 
at summer school. Neither the men teachers nor those 
whom Mr. Kipling would have us believe are of a more 
deadly species ever grow too old to have glorious matri- 
monial hopes for six short weeks, nor can failure after 
failure dull the edge of their anticipation for the ensuing 
summer, albeit those of them most susceptible to the call 
of duty and their profession are sometimes deflected for 
a brief space from the pursuit of connubial felicity by the 
great horde of lecturers who invade the campus and, for 
a dollar a minute, daily, earnestly and vehemently plead 
from the platform at Jefferson Hall for the teachers to 
consecrate themselves to the Service of Mankind and con- 
sign to oblivion the frills which lighter-minded persons 
wear on the sober garment of life. 

On the other hand, a few weeks ago one of our leading 
papers published the statement that our lady school teach- 
ers are metamorphosing into the human. From the prim, 
pleasant, plain cranium-crammer has evolved, it is claim- 
ed, a new species, pretty, prissy, and pirouetting. 

Anyhow ****** 

A somewhat staid pedagogue in derby hat, shiny coat, 


8 The University Magazine 

and lean and slippery pantaloons stepped up the Hill with 
conscious dignity. Professor J. Jasper Jimison had gayer 
clothes, but since, inspired by a brilliant Jefferson Hall 
lecture, he had dedicated himself to self-effacement and 
lack of connubial felicity forever, in the service of human- 
ity, clothes had been an infinitesimal item of his existence. 

A fluffy little blond, in dashing striped skirt and sheer, 
clingy, blouse tripped down the steps of Hume Hall and 
breezed out, bent on conquest, just as our melancholy 
friend solemnly stepped by. She looked at J. Jasper, first 
with a flash of joyful recognition; then uncertainty cloud- 
ed her features but speedily hardened into an expression of 
critical surety. "Married," she thought. Then, 

"Oh, Jaspah !" she exclaimed, with a very good imita- 
tion of the Southern slur, considering that she was now 
out of Hamblen County for the first time. 

Jasper turned and defied his sable suit with a happy 

"Aileen ? What in the world are you doing here ?" 

"Shaking hands with you, Jaspah. I'm suhtanly glad 
to see you. What have you been doing ?" 

"You are the same Aileen that you were in high school 
years ago. College doesn't change a girl. But I — oh, I 
have been experiencing the seriousness of life, Aileen. 
I've been teaching for the past few years, and I'm changed. 
If you could see inside, you would not know your old high 
school gallant. I've settled down." 

"Settled down ?" she inquired. "You mean that you ah 
married ?" 

"Well, no. I'm not so bad off as that. I shall never 
marry, Aileen, until I find a woman in sympathy with my 
new purpose in life, and I doubt my ever finding her. 
I have dedicated myself to service. Fluff and frivolity are 
no longer attractive to me." 

"Oh, my, it's 'Good-bye, guhls, I'm through with you V 

The University Magazine 9 

Oh, yonder's Jimmie, and I must see him. I'm at Hume. 
Come round, and let's talk over old times." 

Jasper looked where she pointed. Jimmie was dressed 
to kill in a please-don't-bend-in-me suit with accessories to 
match. In high school long ago Jimmie had sent Aileen 
roses when she was going to the class reception with Jasper. 
Jasper had sent carnations, and later brought Aileen, em- 
bowered in Jimmie's roses, to the reception. Memory 
slapped him in the face. He would insert one thorn in 
the swaggering Jimmie; he would head him off one time 
from the seductive Aileen, as he had himself been headed 
off in days gone by. Afterward, of course, Jimmie could 
have Aileen, her alluring eyes, feigned, but charming slur, 
and conversational inanities. 

"Hey, Aileen !" he called as she started toward Jimmie, 
and he called loud enough for Jimmie to hear. "There's 
a concert tonight by Nelson. May I have the pleasure ?" 

"Tickled to death," she blew back at him just as she 
reached Jimmie. Jasper went to Education V whistling 
"Happy Days of Love and Spooning." 

In front of Hume Hall, near enough the light for the 
approbation of the matron, but sufficiently in the shadow 
for the decoy and capture of unwary males is a bench, 
and thither, after the concert, Aileen steered Jasper. It 
was a molted Jasper, a Jasper resplendent in a bright 
tucked-in-end bow tie, new-style collar, light, tight, fresh- 
pressed suit, and the shine lately on his trousers had been 
transferred with added luster to a pair of red English 
oxfords. A red carnation in his buttonhole matched the 
eleven Aileen wore. The only concession he had not made 
to style was the style of his hair, which was plastered 
slickly down and lay heavily on his forehead, symbolical 
of the serious, solemn purposes and lack of giddiness un- 
der it. 

"Let's sit heah, Jaspah, while you tell me about yo'self. 

10 The University Magazine 

The cahnations you sent me wuh adohable. It was so sweet 
of you." 

"I am glad you liked them, Aileem especially since I re- 
call the time you liked roses better. The last time I was 
with you Jimmie saw you wearing his flowers. I wanted 
him to see you with mine on tonight, but I failed to see 

"I think he went to Mohistown. Jaspah, yoh cahnation 
is about to fall. Let me fix it." 

She leaned close and pulled the flower straight. Then 
she blew gently on the petals and bent her head to smell — 
of a carnation. The sense of her closeness shocked Jasper ; 
he drew back. He would never marry; his work in life 
would not allow him time, but, if he should, Aileen's type 
was one he meant to shun. She seemed to have no sense 
of decency even. But he had shown Jimmie Dodson that 
he could dress up, that he could be a sport. A sort of 
contempt surged up in him for such as Aileen and Jimmie. 
For them no ideal gleamed tantalizingly ahead. Never 
did they strain ever upward and onward toward the Better 
Things of Life. Content ! Devotees of pleasure ! Social 
butterflies ! What had the speaker said ? "Better be 
toiling upward, though on bleeding hands and knees, soli- 
tary, sneered at by the multitudes, than be a useless aping 
unit of fashionable society." Could he put a spark of the 
greatness of service into Aileen's dinner-and-dancing head ? 

"Aileen," he rumbled, "do you attend those inspiring 
lectures at Jefferson Hall V 

"I went to the fuhst one, but they're so bohing. Jim- 
mie and I usually go to Kern's then." 

"The greatness of self-abnegation is unfolding to me 
there more and more, day by day. You should go. Stead- 
ily I am trimming off habits which may interfere with 
my service to humanity, as a runner lightens his clothing 

The University Magazine 11 

for a race. Service, Aileen, is the greatest thing in life. 
But," he concluded impressively, "as Dr. Dustdry so 
aptly put it yesterday, 'Efficiency is the very brain of 
service.' " 

"How nice you ah looking tonight, Jaspah," she re- 
marked irrelevantly. It was not the reply Jasper was 
expecting, but he swelled visibly. "Do you remember/' 
she continued, "what Mistah Clahke said about the big 
yellow hahvest moon ? Look at it, Jaspah. Do you sup- 
pose any one will do what he said ?" 

"Entirely too much of our time is given to thoughts of 
marriage, Aileen. It occupies none of my thoughts. I 
haven't time. Did you never feel a throbbing desire to be 
a power for good in your community ? Does the still, sad 
music of humanity make no appeal to you ?" 

Aileen laughed up at him. Her eyelashes were long, 
and, as she looked, the laugh died from the blue eyes and 
left them dreamy. Slowly she again bent her head to 
Jasper's carnation. Again he felt the coquettishness of 
the act. One of his high resolves ought to quell, quail, 
crush, exterminate utterly any queer feeling a frivolous 
girl might cause. And yet — her eyes had seemed to cling 
to his ; they were so blue. He knew he ought to pull away, 
but he didn't. Aileen raised her head, but her hand slid 
softly, as if regretfully from his lapel. 

"You don't mind my smelling yours," she breathed. 
"Isn't it funny that they don't have any smell ? Koses 
smell so good, and I think they're prettier than roses. 
You know so much, Jaspah. Tell me why it is." 

Her hand slid on down to his elbow, where it remained. 
This perforce left her warm, smooth arm in his hand. He 
was feeling pleasantly uncomfortable. How silly he was. 
How would Dr. Dustdry act in such a crisis ? How would 
that great devotee to efficient service — the thought was 
futile. Dr. Dustdry was above such petty trivialities. 

12 The University Magazine 

And yet, his hand just almost would close on her round 
slim arm. She had turned on him the look of a seeker for 
knowledge. Instead of gripping her tempting arm, he took 
possession of himself. 

"Why, that's a childish, trivial question. It has nothing 
to do with the deeper things of life." 

Aileen drew her arm through his hand slowly. He felt 
the arm taper to the wrist ; then her soft warm palm was 
in his hand. The inculcator of high principles gripped 
the seat hard with his other hand, and, as Aileen's palm 
lingered in his, he jerked his hand away. Aileen sighed; 
Jasper quivered. The hand next to Jasper she put up 
to the back of her head and leaned back, wistful and 

"You ah so smaht, Jaspah. I'm such a silly little guhl. 
Tell me about the Bettah Things. Do they make you 
happy ?" 

Her hand fell from her hair and lay palm upward on 
the bench. Jasper resolutely turned his eyes away. Here 
was his chance to plant seed of service in good soil, and 
yet there was "something about" Aileen tonight that he 
had never noticed before. She seemed to have unplumbed 
depths of feeling. Was her frivolity only on the surface? 
There seemed to be a subject other than Efficient Service 
to Humanity on which he fain would speak. Yet — 

"Shall I tell you how the great ideal aifected me?" he 
asked in a lower tone than he had yet used. Aileen seem- 
ed to invite the conversation into personal channels, and 
it might lead her to the light of his experiences. 

"Do," she whispered, "I love foh you to talk to me about 
yohself." She took his hat and ran her finger around it. 
Then she reached into his pocket, got a pencil, and, with 
head lowered, wrote on the inside of his hat as she talked. 

"I should know that the great ideal that is shaping my 
life is a good thing even if I had not the faith to believe 

The University Magazine 13 

in its ultimate realization. It has influenced my personal 
habits for the good. Time that I used to fritter away, 
I now utilize in labor toward my goal. I was once a victim 
of the cigarette ; I have even imbibed alcoholic beverages. 
You yourself may remember I was a trifle wild in my 
high school days." 

"You wuh nevah bad, Jaspah. I used to wondah how 
anyone could be so uttahly good. Jimmie says you 
nevah kissed a guhl and that you say you nevah will till 
you meet the one who is to be yoh wife. Don't you nevah 
want to, Jaspah V 

Her head was lifted languidly up toward his. Jimmie 
had said — What business had Jimmie to say anything? 
He had never kissed a girl, but Jimmie said — 

"Haven't you evah wanted to ?" Aileen leant far toward 
him to put back the pencil. She was making weak, in- 
effectual jabs into the lining on the left side of his coat. 

"I can't find yoh pocket." She leaned still closer, and 
pulled his coat open with her other hand. Fate or the 
matron cut off the lights. The dense darkness of the shad- 
ow of a great tree leaped around them, a black patch in 
the surrounding sea of white moonlight. Aileen laughed 
a queer, catchy little laugh. 

"Find yoh pocket foh me," she breathed, only inches 
from his lips. He trembled and drew his feet hard against 
the bench. Then he raised his hand for the pencil, touched 
her arm, and her hands were pressed tight in his, and he 
was stooping to her lips, which beckoned from his shoulder. 
A breeze blew the leaves of the tree, and a stray moonbeam 
filtered through the foliage and played through her hair 
and over the revealed portion of her small and shapely ear. 
As his lips approached hers, the same breeze blew her fine 
clinging hair about his face. He wanted her even nearer. 
He wished to seize her with a devastating grasp of pos- 

14 The University Magazine 

session. He loved her, wanted her, ached for her. Service 
to humanity be hanged. This was life. 

"Aileen," he pleaded huskily, a love me, kiss me, marry 



His lips brushed hers, as he waited to receive the answer 
which her eyes had already given. She twisted her head 
quickly, so that his lips were in her hair. 

"Turn me loose, Jaspah. I can't marry you." Her 
voice was stifled against his shoulder, so that he could 
barely distinguish. "You see I promised Jimmie heah last 
night. He's gone to Mohistown to tell papa." 

While the beer and cheese and crackers were being pass- 
ed during a lull in the poker game in the room of the sur- 
prisingly changed Professor J. Jasper Jimison, one of the 
roisterers picked up the hat of the convert from Efficient 
Service, and was examining curiously some writing within. 

"Why, what's this, old Sport ? 'Jimmie Dodson.' You've 
got some other guy's lid, old top." 

"What the devil does it matter ?" replied J. Jasper flip- 
pantly, as he rolled a Chesterfield between his palms and 
hung it between his lips. "Gimme a light." 

The University Magazine 15 

®be jfltgfjt 


It was early evening on the Polish plains. The light 
from the fading west still flooded the air above, but below 
the darkness was slowly creeping over the level land. The 
outlines of well marked fields, scattered trees, and the 
straight road which ran toward the sunset became indis- 
tinct, and the whole landscape merged into a monotony of 
black shadows. Here and there could be seen dimly 
through the darkness moving dots, the figures of men and 
women working in the fields. These soon laid aside their 
tools and turned toward home, plodding wearily through 
the dusk and quietness which concludes the day. The 
homes of these tillers of the soil lay a little distance away, 
in a village situated on the open plain. 

The first house at the end of the one street was that of 
an old couple, Ivan and Olga. They were sitting before 
their door as the villagers passed and returned the greet- 
ing of each with smiles, happily conscious of the esteem 
in which they were held. For a long time Ivan and Olga 
had lived in this house. In his day Ivan had been a stal- 
wart man and Olga a strong woman, busy in the fields as 
the rest and taking zealous care of their home. Life had 
dealt hardly with them as it had with all the Polish peo- 
ple. But they had met its reverses with a brave front, and 
only once had they been really cast down, that being when 
their only son forsook them for a more adventurous life. 
JSTow they were spending their last days pleasantly, sur- 
rounded by friends and with nothing much to do but sit 
and dream. On summer evenings, after the light work was 
done, they took their chairs before the front door and 
enjoyed for an hour or so the quiet at close of day. In this 
way they were sitting when the laborers from the fields 
passed with rattling buckets and arms full of vegetables or 

16 The University Magazine 

bundles of grain. The evening chores were now begun in 
the village, and from the barnyards came the squeal of a 
hungry pig or- the whinny of a horse. Gradually silence 
settled down, the peasants retiring indoors to their evening 
meal. Ivan and Olga spoke little but were lost in a lan- 
guorous dreaming over many things. 

For some days the people, the old couple among them, 
had been disturbed by reports that the terrible German 
army was approaching from the west. They received the 
news with blanched faces, for it recalled stories told by 
their parents of other days in Poland. These rumors had 
grown more frequent and insistent, until uncertainty and 
dread of a possible calamity were mingled with their re- 

Suddenly far down the road, borne on the still air, burst 
out the hoof beats of a galloping horse. Nearer and nearer 
the horse came, and on entering the village he broke the 
silence by the beat of his feet on the hard road. Reaching 
the center of the rows of houses, the rider reined in his 
steed and shouted a loud halloa which was answered by 
people flocking to the doors. Ivan and Olga had heard 
the solitary horseman sooner than any, and each had in- 
stinctively feared what his mission might be. As he passed 
Ivan rose, and when the messenger stopped he hobbled up 
the street to learn the news, his shoulders bent and his 
long white beard shining, while his face was shadowed. 
The Russian cavalryman told the assembled group that 
the German army was not far away, and commanded that 
they gather together what goods they could carry with 
them, burn what was left, and be gone by the morrow. The 
command struck Ivan like a blow as it did others, and 
tottering back to the cottage he acquainted Olga with the 
order. Both were stunned and overcome by the sudden- 
ness and horror of the situation. How they were to man- 
age they had little mind to consider. 

The University Magazine 17 

The neighbors, too, were ill-fitted to bear the blow. 
Wearied by a long day's labor in the fields, they had crept 
home to be met by the news that left them utterly wretched 
and exhausted. But there was nothing to do but obey, 
and they set about preparing for flight. 

Ivan and Olga remained in a sort of stupor. After 
Ivan's return they had gone indoors and sat down in the 
light of a flickering candle. Many years had left their 
mark on the old people in wrinkled and pale faces, gray 
hair and withered forms. As they looked at each other 
in the candle light across the space which separated them 
these marks of years seemed to grow more pronounced and, 
indeed, pitiable. The night air grew cold to them, and 
they drew their garments more closely about their shrunk- 
en bodies. Their minds were filled with an indefinable 
perplexity as to what to do or how to act. From time to 
time they went to the door and window and looked in a 
dazed way at what was going on among the neighbors. 
Carts had been drawn out into the street and lined up be- 
fore the doors. On these the housewives were loading 
what little of their household goods they might. In the 
dim light of lanterns the strange work went on. In anx- 
ious haste the figures of men and women, some bearing 
the lanterns slung over their arms, moved about, their 
long gaunt shadows crossing each other or falling away, 
fell swiftly moving dark patches on the lighted front of a 
house. Overhead black threatening clouds had risen, cut- 
ting out from the earth every ray of light. The cattle 
were to be driven before the procession, and some of them 
loosed from their enclosures and frightened by the noise 
and bustle, rushed wildly through the street scattering all 
before them and overturning piles of goods. At length 
cornered and surrounded, they stood trembling, their long 
white horns shining from out the dark bunch. Ivan and 
Olga saw all this as in a dream. The old couple, among 

18 The University Magazine 

all the villagers, were the only ones apparently unaffected 
by the order of the Russian soldier. 

And thus they remained idle after the others had 
drawn their carts outside the village and were preparing 
to set fire to their houses. The women and children had 
followed the carts and now remained a huddled group at 
the opposite end of the street from the cottage of Ivan and 
Olga. Many of the women, exhausted, sank in a heap on 
the ground, hanging their heads in dumb despair. Houses, 
barns and everything in the village were now ignited, 
and the crackling flames grew apace. The soldier who had 
brought the order remained to see that it was carried out. 
The absence of the old folk from the group gathered out- 
side the village was not noticed, and no one thought of them 
in the distraction of the moment. 

The flames from the burning buildings spread and 
mounted up until the village became the center of a terri- 
fying light in a world of darkness. A circle of pathetic 
figures gathered around, moving here and there listlessly, 
and when their faces came full in the light showed un- 
earthly pale and haggard. Ivan and Olga saw the glow 
and heard the roar of the flames but it only added to their 
sense of helplessness. 

The Russian soldier noticing that one building was not 
burning and wishing to make a clean sweep, as he jocularly 
said, ran back between the rows of blazing houses to that 
one standing silent and dark, save for the faint gleam 
from the little window. Despite the figures in the room, 
his first impulse was to set fire to the house and run back 
without warning or giving any assistance to those within. 
Better feeling prevailed, and bursting through the door, 
he bade them come away at once. At first they hardly 
understood his presence there, but after repeating the order 
more urgently, with a threat to leave them to their fate, 
he brought them to realize their necessity. Olga gazed 

The University Magazine 19 

about the room for an instant and then let her head fall 
forward in her hands. In a mad effort to save some of 
the loved objects with which the room was furnished and 
decorated, she snatched up more things than she had 
strength to carry. The soldier roughly struck some of 
them from her arms, but she clung to the rest. Urged and 
half-dragged they made their way out of the village. Just 
before reaching the outside Olga stumbled and fell. The 
articles were broken and scattered, among them the pre- 
cious picture of her long-lost son. 

The buildings were now masses of roaring flames. High- 
er and higher these reached up, piercing the dark arch 
above and revealing the low black clouds scudding by. 
Roofs tumbled in with a crash loud above the seething 
roar, and each time there was a groan from some woman 
among the watchers. Following the collapse swarms of 
sparks flew up, shining for a moment like stars in the 
inky blackness. Dazed and unwilling to move the villagers 
lingered to see their houses at last sink into smoking em- 
bers, and then turning away began their flight. 

The cattle were driven before. After them came the 
carts, followed by the women and children. The way was 
lighted by the lanterns scarcely bright enough to dispel the 
thick darkness which crowded in. The procession crawled 
like a funeral train over the fields. Whenever a lantern 
came close to the face of its bearer the pale features show- 
ed distinct and startling, while the light flickered over 
the bent forms. From time to time they looked back 
across the plain to where a smoldering pile marked the site 
of their village. 

Among the hindmost of this sad procession walked Ivan 
and Olga. Every step was painful, and they moved only 
because the others did and their stunned minds refused to 
act clearly of themselves. They would willingly have re- 
mained where they were. The soldier rode along beside, 

20 The University Magazine 

urging on the company. His horse, which had been docile 
enough throughout the evening, now became frightened, 
perhaps at the strangeness of the sight, rearing and plung- 
ing, unmanageable in the hands of his rider. Finally 
throwing from his back the cavalryman who fell to the 
ground with a heavy thud, he galloped away through the 
darkness. Among the group there were none who had any 
kind feelings for the soldier and most were disposed to 
offer no assistance. Some, however, went to see the ex- 
tent of his injuries and to give aid. Among them was 
Olga. He lay a sprawled, inert mass on the damp ground. 
Lanterns were brought; when the light fell on his un- 
covered head, revealing clearly his features Olga uttered 
a cry of pain and joy. It was her son ! She sank down on 
the ground beside him and in a few moments he awoke to 
her tremulous whispering with his head on her knees. 

A cold damp wind beat in the faces of the now homeless 
people, napping their garments about and heightening their 
unpleasant thoughts by the prospect of a rainy morrow. 
Cold and disconsolate they moved on towards the east. 
Against the wind came the muffled roar of a cannon. 

The University Magazine 21 

gj pargam 


With a rush we snaked the big log through the shoal 
water, and loosening our peavies, we leaped back to watch 
the fallen giant plunge and spin in the foaming water be- 
low the shoals. Big "Doc" Mooney, up to his armpits in 
water, watched the log with brooding, yet watchful eyes. 

"I believe I'll ride the next one down the Devil's Wash- 
board," he remarked to no one in particular, and waded 
out of the stream. We had just turned to go back up to 
the j am when we became aware of the long figure seated on 
a rock near the water line. We recognized him immedi- 
ately, for those long legs, that tortoise-shell adorned coun- 
tenance could belong to no one but the "preacher." With 
his cap pulled low over his eyes he had been watching us 
in the water. 

"Come on in and get wet, preacher," said Doc, hospi- 
tably as we paused. 

Mr. McKane (for so did the parson style himself) 
smiled widely, or rather grinned, and relieved himself of 
the belief that the dry rock was more in his line, especially 
when attired in his clothes. All this he said, and more, 
and most of us agreed that his argument had some degree 
of strength. Doc Mooney, however, was never satisfied, 
and never will be, to lose an argument about anything. 

"Preacher, I've just been telling the boys that I'll try 
the next twenty-footer down the Devil's Washboard, that 
rapid you see beyond the big rock. How about riding it 
with me as far as the rock. The going is smooth, and you 
won't even get your feet wet. What do you say ?" 

The preacher was silent a minute. Then : 

"Doc, they tell me that you whipped your boy, Finn, 
for coming to Sunday school last Sunday. If you will let 

22 The University Magazine 

him come hereafter I'll ride all the way down the Wash- 
board with you." 

Doc jumped into the air with a yell, and then seizing 
the preacher's hand he pumped it vigorously. 

"Preacher, you're on. Come on, boys, let's get that big 

The bargain between the preacher and Doc lent wings 
to our steps and soon the big twenty-foot hemlock was 
rolling toward the groove in the rocky bed of the stream. 
Catching it with our hooks we pulled it along toward the 
shoals. As the water became shallower, we began to yell, 
and many were the vociferations of encouragement. 

"Get mad, boys." 

"Come on, Rube ! Come on Rube." 

"Dig in those number twelves, boys." 

"Break that hook handle. Plenty more at the shop." 

With those husky mountaineers at the hooks that log 
went over like a battering ram, and soon we were holding 
it in the water below the shoals, waiting for Doc and the 
preacher to mount. Doc, of course, had all the advantages, 
for riding logs was part of his business, his "cutters" were 
provided with caulks, and he knew the use of his hook. 
The preacher, on the other hand, had no caulks, and was 
in ignorance of the fine points of riding a bucking log. 
He climbed aboard with Doc with a grin on his face, how- 
ever. I knew his heart beat was far above normal. Doc 
took the bow, and the preacher, armed with a borrowed 
peavy, perforce trod the bark at the stern. We loosed our 
hooks, and shoved the craft into the white caps. We had 
gotten Doc to promise not to spin the log, but we knew he 
would let the preacher take care of himself. Down through 
the current they went, the log rearing and plunging, but 
with Doc, good old sport that he was, holding the log with 
his hook to keep it from spinning. Their course was 
clearly outlined, the deep water went swirling around the 

The University Magazine 23 

base of a jutting cliff, straightened out, and then went 
smooth and swift as a mill race to the Devil's Washboard, 
than which there is no meaner piece of white water for its 
size in all the Blue Eidge. It derives its name from the 
peculiar ridges of rocks which run across the bed of the 
stream, forming numerous little cascades. The fall here is 
not more than five feet, and the ripple is not more than ten 
yards in extent. Kunning diagonally down it there is a 
groove or trough which forms an excellent path for a log 
ridden by an able navigator. There is always the danger, 
however, of the log turning broadside to the current and 

When we turned the log loose the preacher, dug his 
peavy point in the wood and braced his feet. He did not 
attempt to hook his peavy the way Doc had his. When 
they hit the swirl at the Big Kock the log whirled around 
in the water like a plank on a pivot, the preacher, by some 
miracle or stroke of good fortune managing to stay on the 
log, although he at one time was standing gracefully on 
one leg with the other wildly waving about in the air, 
to the great amusement of the crowd who stood on the 

When the nymph of that particular eddy had been sat- 
isfied the water shot the log into the smooth swift current 
above the Washboard. Doc, with one eye on the riffle and 
one on the preacher, which was itself a difficult feat, was 
using his hook as a paddle and was working the log toward 
the trough in the rapids. The preacher at the stern was 
attempting, without success, to do likewise, for everytime 
he would bend to take a stroke the log would glide side- 
ways from under his feet, and he would be forced to wave 
arms and peavy handle wildly to regain his balance. Doc 
was becoming sarcastic. 

"Come on now, young sprout, how about helping a 
little bit. You stand there like a knot. Make a hole in 

24 The University Magazine 

the water. Shove her over. You're not in your pulpit. 
There you go again. Who are you waving at, anyhow? 
Look sharp, here we are." 

As he spoke he thrust his peavy at the first ledge of 
rock, shoved the log into the trough, and clamped it again 
with his hook. Down the slope the log charged without a 
jar until it had almost reached the bottom, when the 
preacher again lost his balance, and in regaining it his 
peavy slipped from his hand into the water. In a second 
the current had jammed the hook into the trough under 
the log, and the water, stayed by the slight pause of the 
big timber, piled up behind it. Doc tried to wrench his 
hook out of the wood, but before he could do so the water 
lifted the log out of the groove and spun it down the slope. 
The turn was so quick that Doc was thrown with terrific 
force into the water, and the log rolled on down and floated 
off down the deep water below the rapids. The preacher, 
who had jumped when the log bucked, was carried on down 
with the water, but soon managed to scramble ashore. 
Pushing us aside, when we would have aided him, he 
rushed down to the water's edge at the foot of the riffle. 
"Doc is in there yet. We've got to get him." 
And with that down he dived into the water. The depth 
was about nine feet, but he had to deal with a forty mile 
current. He soon came up empty handed, as indeed we 
all knew he would. After a rest he went down again, this 
time with some of us for company. No success that time 
either. The next time the parson was the last man to 
come up, and when he did appear we all knew he had some- 
thing even before he said so, and swam to help him. After 
considerable trouble we hauled them both ashore, and while 
some worked on the preacher, who was thoroughly ex- 
hausted, the rest of us, with the exception of Ben Field, 
who had gone for the doctor, worked on Doc, who was in 
a pretty bad condition. There was a long cut in his head 

The University Magazine 25 

where he had hit a ridge of rock, and a big bump where 
the log must have struck him. And he was almost drowned 
into the bargain. We got the water out of him and were 
pumping his arms and chafing his hands and feet like mad 
when the doctor came. He looked pretty grave when he 
saw that cut, but soon brought him around. We explained 
everything to him, and then he asked for the preacher. 

"Preacher," he said, weakly, when Mr. McKane knelt 
beside him, "You're a blame good sport, and I'll not for- 
get our bargain. I'll send the boy around, and maybe — 
maybe I'll come, too." 

Co a Xabj> 


I find thy tender winsome face 

In every tiny flower I see. 
The rosebud is a nameless grace 

That brings thy image back to me. 

The daisies smiling on the lea 

Are blossomed airs that once were thine- 
Such sweet-lipped glories left by thee ! — 

Who would not worship at thy shrine ! 

26 The University Magazine 

palate of pleasure 


Beyond the pale of human tears 

And in the land of sleep, 
Far from the reach of somber fears, 

Where shades of death ne'er creep, 
My pleasure-palace, Thought's abode, 

Its skyward profile rears, 
Which lust of flesh cannot corrode, 

Nor icy breath of years. 

With gleaming turrets pillowed high 

Against perennial blue, 
It stands, bewitching earth and sky 

The summer ages thru. 
And fast within are marble halls 

And chambers large and fair, 
Whose casements look thru ivied walls 

Upon the zephyred air. 

And in this palace I alone 

The regal master dwell, 
Save for my flower, my Magdelone, 

My lovely immortelle; 
And there love finds no waking pain, 

Nor any languish knows, 
But like a treasured youth-refrain 

Its music ever flows. 

And thru the gardened paths of dreams 
Or in the twilight glades, 

Along the banks of wildwood streams, 
Where vernal never fades, 

The University Magazine 27 

We roam unfretted by the hours, 

Just Magdelone and I, 
Contented as the thoughtless flowers 

That bloom beneath the sky. 

And when across the span of night 

The jeweled stars are drawn, 
Or else enveloped in the light 

Which dries the tears of morn, 
We reign upon our love-built throne, 

Where never leeward tide. 
Can snatch away fair Magdelone, 

My heart, my dreamland bride. 

28 The University Magazine 

&n €pilogue 


The buildings of Washington looked ghostlike that 
night, the rays of the moon falling in a glorious radiance 
and covering all things with a white veneer of light. Like 
a fairy city it seemed to the girl in a window of a certain 
great house. She sat as in a dream, looking out toward 
the Potomac, her eyes resting idly on the great shaft from 
a searchlight which seemed to rival the rays of the moon 
in brilliancy. She did not have to sit up there all alone, 
this girl, for a glance at her fair face would be sufficient 
proof for saying that she was lonely merely from choice. 
There were shadows in her eyes tonight in spite of the 
brightness without, and at intervals she lifted her head 
and listened as if expecting someone. The long hours passed 
slowly one by one, and still the girl continued to watch. 

Far down the moonlit Potomac a small launch rocked id- 
ly with the tide, the water lap-lapping against the side. The 
boat was attached to one of those numerous piles which 
stand like sentinels, pointing out the channel. A person 
upon either shore might have noticed a single light burning 
aboard the launch, but little could he have guessed what 
that little light was watching. One of those scenes which 
change lives and alter destinies, which break hearts and 
destroy families might have been enacted within half a 
mile of him and he would never have suspected. 

On board the launch two men were seated opposite each 
other at a little table, on which reposed a large suitcase 
and a bag. A lantern on a nearby bunk cast a weak yellow 
light about the little cabin. The men were sitting quietly 
as if busy with the consideration of some problem. That 
this problem was one of importance was shown by the pale- 

The University Magazine 29 

ness of both countenances, the nervous agitation of one, 
and the subdued mutterings of the other. Finally one 
broke the silence. 

"Cartwright, you know why we are both here. It 
was impossible to have another scene like the one which 
occurred last night, as I thought, and so I sent you the 
message to meet me. Here we are. I know you to 
be a man of honor. You have the same opinion of me. 
Both of us love Mary Sinclair, and both of us want to 
marry her. I don't want your success, you don't want to 
see mine. One of us must step aside, and since both of us 
are men of pride, one of us must not only relinquish 
Mary, but life also. Mary loves us both, and the contest 
is between us, for I have no knowledge of a third suitor. 
My plan is this: We must draw balls out of this bag. 
There are sixteen of them. The one who draws the cue 
ball is free to return to marry the girl we both love. The 
one who remains in the launch is to be seen no more. Alki, 
the anarchist who was released from prison last Monday, 
very kindly fitted out this ingenious little bomb. It con- 
sists of an alarm clock, a couple of batteries, and enough 
nitro-glycerine to send one of us to eternity. Come, let us 
set the clock." 

He opened the case and took out a board on which were 
arranged two storage batteries, a clock, and a jar of nitro- 
glycerine. The alarm key of the clock had a piece of cop- 
per wire attached to it so that when the alarm went off it 
would cause a connection to be established between the 
batteries and so discharge the jar of nitro-glycerine. It 
was a simple but deadly machine. 

"It will take us two minutes to draw the balls, so we 
will set the clock to go off in Rve minutes. It is now ten 
minutes after nine. At nine-fifteen one of us will bid 
adieu to this sphere of toil and sorrow." 

Cartwright wound up the clock and set it to go off at 

30 The University Magazine 

nine-fifteen. They then turned their attention to the bag. 
Cartwright calmly shook the bag, and offered it to the 
other. Randall, for that was the first speaker's name, drew 
the five ball. Cartwright drew number one. They seemed 
as indifferent as if they were playing for matches and not 
lives and love. Hands were steady, breathing was regular, 
and eyes were bright as they drew. At the fourth draw 
Randall found number fifteen, number seven fell to Cart- 
wright. The drawing continued, the silence tense, the 
excitement of each man growing with the passing seconds. 
Finally but two balls remained in the bag, number three 
and the fatal cue ball. It was Randall's draw. Silently 
the two men looked at each other. That bag contained 
their fate. Randall, if he should draw the cue ball could 
return to happiness, but if it was his fortune to draw the 
number three he would have to remain with the launch 
until nine fifteen. He looked at Cartwright, the lantern, 
the suitcase, and then the bag. It was enough to make 
the bravest flinch. He slowly inserted his hand into the 
bag and drew out number three. Cartwright said noth- 
ing and was about to grasp Randall's hand when they heard 
a boat strike against the side of the launch. Both sprang 
to their feet. A head protruded through a window and 
requested them, in the name of the law, to keep quiet. 

"Sorry to trouble you gents, but we have strict orders 
to hold up all small boats and make them explain their 
business. Major Henry thinks there's too much gamblin' 
and drinkin' on the river." 

"My friend," said Randall, "If you value your life and 
consider the welfare of this gentleman, please get away 
from here as soon as possible and take him with you, for 
this boat goes up in one minute." 

"That's a likely story, and kinda makes me want to 
glance around this cabin a bit. Hum ! pool balls ! ISTow 
what are they for ? And here is a suit case. Locked, just 

The University Magazine 31 

as I supposed. Now, if you will be so kind as to give me 
the key we'll see what can be found inside." 

Eandall said nothing. He had locked the case after 
they had set the clock. Why, he did not know, but prob- 
ably merely from habit. The key was now in his pocket. 
He took it out, showed it to the officer, and calmly threw 
it into the river. He then seized Cartwright and was 
forcing hirn to leave the launch, when the officer, enraged 
by their indifference, said : 

"Now, if either of you move another inch, I'll drill 
you I" 

Randall and Cartwright turned back and faced the man. 
Eandall whispered something to his companion, and 
stepped forward. 

"If you will cut open the case you will see what is in it. 
I will not unlock it." 

The man turned to the table. 

"Swim, Cartwright, swim !" 

With these words Randall hurled himself upon the offi- 
cer and strove to pin him down. Cartwright sprang into 
the tender and rowed frantically away. In the little cabin 
the men rolled over and over upon the floor, now Randall, 
now the officer on top, struggling for possession of the pis- 
tol. The officer had the weapon but Randall held his wrist 
in a vise-like grip. The little clock ticked on. Suddenly a 
great boom was heard. Men and boat were blown into 
fragments, the water rising in a great column, then set- 
tled, and all was still. 

Through the moonlit night a man was speeding toward 
happiness. Soon the lonely girl, the girl who had no right 
to be lonely, heard a well-known step, and then the moon 
saw the two clasped in each other's arms, telling the same 
old story to willing ears. But the story of the man who 
fought that he might keep his promise was told in due 
time, and both respected the memory of the other man. 

32 The University Magazine 

It was almost time for Thomas Brandon to go on duty 
again. Mary Wilson, the little American Red Cross nurse, 
knew that very soon it would be Tommy's turn to go. A 
great change had come into her life since the last time he 
had marched away to fight. On that occasion she had 
awakened early, and as she stood waving the soldiers a 
farewell, Tommy had thrown her a kiss. Then she had 
known that she loved him. What if he were not tall, and 
what if he were slightly bow-legged — didn't his rolling gait 
itself suggest strength, as did his whole heavy-set form? 
Yes, she had realized then that she loved him dearly. 

She was thinking this as she stood before him. He had 
stammered out his love for her, and she had told him of 
hers, and now he was leaving again. He kissed her hand, 
and she playfully lifted her lips, which he stooped to kiss. 
How she loved his smile, which caused his face to brighten 
and suggested, hidden beneath a rough exterior, her ideal. 

Her blue eyes were brimming with tears, but when he 
kissed her and said, "I'll be back again, girlie !" she gave a 
quick brave smile. When he turned away, however, her 
face became said. 

The day after he left passed slowly. Her patients 
were surprised to see her unsmiling, but she could not be 
cheerful. A deep foreboding filled her heart, and the big 
guns' booming seemed ominous. She shivered sometimes 
in spite of herself. 

Finally rest time came and she fell into a troubled sleep. 
She seemed to be with Tommy again, but he could not 
make her understand him. His eyes were dumbly beseech- 
ing. Although he spoke, she could never catch a syllable. 
With aching heart she awoke, and thanked God for day- 
light when it at last came, for she knew that she could be 

The University Magazine 33 

happier while busy, than just thinking, thinking there in 
the dark. 

During the day, when possible, she watched the lately 
wounded arrive, and once she gave a startled cry for she 
thought she saw Tommy. When she realized her mistake, 
she gave a sigh of relief. She had prayed and prayed and 
her face was very sad as the long day drew to a close. 
Perhaps he had escaped during that day then. 

Her hopes were futile, for, as she was passing down a 
hallway of the improvised hospital, a groan reached her 
ear, and with a suppressed cry she recognized Tommy. 

"Poor, dear boy," she cried, as she saw that his left arm 
was horribly mangled. A surgeon was walking alongside 
the stretcher, and when he asked her if she could aid him, 
she nodded yes. 

While the amputation proceeded, she was very brave. 
The physician suspected nothing till, as he picked up the 
coat of the unconscious youth, a letter fell from a pocket. 
When Mary read the direction: "If I am killed, send 
this to Mrs. Thomas Brandon, 22 Oakland Ave., Man- 
chester," she fainted. 

The physican called another nurse and asked her to re- 
store the plucky little American to consciousness. The 
nurse gently took the girl to her sleeping cot. As Mary 
rallied, the nurse tried to soothe her, for she kept murmur- 
ing over and over, "Oh, I wish I could die !" As the girl 
lay there shaken with sobs, the nurse saw the physician 
whom they had just left, walking rapidly to them. 

"Miss Wilson," he said, "please come back at once. The 
fellow is continually calling for you. Perhaps you may 
quiet him. If you'll come, he may sink to quiet slumber. 
Otherwise his troubled brain may cause the poor lad to 
suffer madness from the shock he has undergone." 

Mary murmured, "For his sake," and, leaning on the 
nurse, she went to the sick lad. 

34 The University Magazine 

He looked so pitiful that she forgot herself. She knelt 
beside him, and motioned for the others to leave the room. 

With low, sweet nothings and gentle caresses she soothed 
him till finally her presence seemed to calm and help him 
till he opened his eyes. With a slow, joyful smile he 
murmured, "Darling," and then, feeling his pain, he look- 
ed at his arm. An agonized expression swept over his 

"Oh, Mary, I can never fight for England again !" she 
heard him cry, but she could say nothing, for she was 
choking, and it seemed that her heart would break. 

It was the next morning when she came to him that she 
handed him a ring. 

"What, our engagement ring !" he exclaimed. 

"Yes," she sobbed, "Oh, Tommy, how could you V and 
drew the letter from her pocket. He saw the address, 
"Mrs. Thomas Brandon." 

"Mary, darling," he cried, stretching out his good right 
arm, "It's to my mother. I'm Tommy, Junior !" 

The University Magazine 35 



Alone I climbed a lofty hill 

And stood in silence there; 
My soul so filled with fervid thrill 

Felt not the chill night air, 
But flew far out in rapid flight 

Beyond the starry skies — 
'Twas not the light of moonlit night 

That loomed before my eyes. 

Beyond confine of lurid line 

Where murky mountains roll'd 
I saw thru kindly power divine 

A vision fair unfold. 
Then from my heart fond hope arose 

That ne'er shall fall again 
'Till fervent blood no longer flows 

And life is at an end. 

But like the brightest star of night 

Before senescent dawn — 
A moment ling' ring in the light 

And then forever gone — 
The glamour of that vision spread 

Where fancy feared to play 
Its splendor shed, then fading fled, 

Forever past away. 

And when my soul reached out again 

To grasp the mystic scene 
It only met the barren blend 

Of earth and sky between, 
Oh long I sought that sight beyond 

The dreary earth's array, 
But it had gone and soon there dawned 

The dull delusive day. 

36 The University Magazine 

James ®81fntcomf> »ilej> 


Of the early life of James Whitcomb Riley little is 
known save that he was born and reared in Greenfield, Ind., 
had little schooling, and set out early in life to earn his 
own living. Various stories of his early occupations have 
obtained credence. He is said to have peddled for a patent 
medicine firm, to have amused himself and interested oth- 
ers as a versifier at county fairs, and to have gone around 
with a little company of advertising agents painting signs 
on barns and village fences. Displaying extraordinary 
dexterity in free hand drawing, he attracted no little at- 
tention by his keen sense of humor and the originality 
with which he emblazoned in conspicuous places the in- 
signia of his patron merchants. Often he would enforce 
his signs by inserting little bits of verse much to the dis- 
gust of his fellow workmen. 

This changeful, wandering life soon brought Riley to 
the little town of Anderson in the heart of Indiana. Here, 
through the influences of a friend, he secured a position as 
local editor on the Anderson Democrat. Glad for the op- 
portunity — as yet no matter what — he set to his new task 
with the prodigious vigor that characterized all his later 
work. To the Democrat he brought all the wit and humor 
that experiences with the sign painters and patent medi- 
cine men had given him, and insisted on sandwiching be- 
tween his locals or "items" such verselets as : 

When e'er I take my walks abroad 

How many poor I see, 
Who sigh to read the Democrat 

Through all Eternity. 

Or when he grew more optimistic : 

The University Magazine 37 

In the spring our widowed neighbor 

Climbs the fence that intervenes, 
Borrows from our wife the paper 

Leaving us a mess of greens. 

Often Riley was rebuked for thus filling his columns 
with his poetic "drivel and nonsense," and encouraged to 
be "more serious." Accordingly he produced his "Wrang- 
dillon," a wierd creation in which fancy plays stranger 
tricks than ever before. It begins : 

Dextery, tethery, down in the dike, 

Under the ooze and the slime, 
Nestles the wraith of a reticent gryke 

Blubbering bubbles of rhyme. 

In reply to an inquiry as to the meaning of his produc- 
tion, Riley replied that he believed such effusions to be a 
"sort of poetic fungus that springs from the decay of 
better effort." 

New demands soon shifted the young poet from his 
poems and locals to the advertising department. Here he 
carried the same spirit, filling whole columns with a con- 
tinued strain of verse, singing of merchants, tailors, groc- 
ers, and bankers. But in these days when his brain was 
ever in a maddening whirl of rhyming "cares and wares," 
there were in the poet's soul, underneath the clamor, bet- 
ter thoughts awaiting an opportunity for expression. An 
outlet for these was occasioned by the death of the baby 
boy of Samuel Richards, Riley's first friend to manifest 
any human interest in him. Riley's poem to the boy is 
filled with a feeling hitherto unexpressed : 


Fold the little Waxen hands 


Let your warmest tears 

Speak regrets but never fears, — 

Heaven understands. 

38 The University Magazine 

Let the sad heart o'er the tomb, 
Lift again and burst in bloom, 
Fragrant with a prayer as sweet 
As the lily at your feet. 

Bend and kiss the folded eyes — 
They are only feigning sleep 
While their truant glances peep 
Into Paradise. 

See the face, tho' cold and white, 
Holds a hint of some delight 
E'en with death, whose ringer tips 
Rest upon the frozen lips. 

When within the years to come, 
Vanished echoes live once more — 
Pattering footsteps on the floor, 
And the sounds of home — 
Let your arms, in fancy, fold 
Little Harley as of old — 
As of old, and as he waits 
At the City's golden gates. 

Riley had risen above the Democrat and now experi- 
mented on still another vocation — that of a traveling actor. 
In this, he displayed very decided talents, especially his 
effective facial expression. Sir Henry Irving is reported 
to have said that the American stage lost a great actor 
when Riley refused to make acting his life work. 

But Riley was first of all a poet. He wrote verses be- 
cause it was natural for him to use that form of expres- 
sion. He had no theories of his art ; no consciousness ap- 
parently of any ambition to practice it in any particular 
way or for any specific purpose. He understood life; he 
understood and loved children because he stood in intimate 
personal relations to nature as it unfolded the domestic 
life of the farm and the village. He possessed an unaf- 
fected and delightful humor, which is often akin to pathos 
and which appealed to a host of people that have no con- 

The University Magazine 39 

cern for poetry in its more elaborate forms. He sang of 
childhood, of the flowers in the garden, of the secrets of 
the woods, all with an unconscious simplicity which in 
itself is the ultimate aim of art. 

His death, which was unexpected, although it followed 
a long illness, has evoked an expression of regret and re- 
gard in volume and sincerity shows how deeply the author 
of "Knee Deep in June" had touched the heart of his 

fame* OTfntcomb fttlep 


Born from the foam of life's deep tideless sea, 
He sings beyond the stars above the things that be. 

While others sell their dreams for baubles of the night, 
His soul with winged attendants knocks at the gates of 

40 The University Magazine 

®fje W&at anb tfje Untberstttes 


The war is decidedly the greatest topic of the day. Since 
the outbreak of the European struggle more than two 
years ago we have had our attentions constantly attracted 
to the scenes of action across the sea, and, naturally 
enough, other subjects of importance have almost dropped 
into insignificance with the coming of sensational war 
news. Correspondents at the battle fronts have related 
their vivid accounts of the life which they have seen there, 
and the writers here at home have filled the columns of 
our newspapers and magazines with discussions of the 
war, its relation to this country, and speculations as to its 
outcome and results. Some of those writers have told us 
that German "kultur" will dominate the world, while 
others have assured us that Teutonic militarism must 
crumble under the sword of democracy; they have con- 
vinced us of the vast proportions of the military forces 
engaged, and have enumerated the millions of dollars nec- 
essary to maintain them; they have spoken to us of en- 
durance, of efficiency, and of heroism ; they have discussed 
the subject of neutral rights from every point of view; 
and have spared no colors in painting the horrible pic- 
ture of Europe after war, with its orphans and widows, 
its murdered industry and commerce, and its blood-strewn 
fields. Indeed almost every conceivable phase of war and 
its results has been constantly before us on the printed 
pages, but there is one thing, and certainly one of the 
greatest and most vital things of all, to which the writers 
have not given a merited consideration. It is the effect 
which this war is going to have upon the institutions of 
higher learning in the warring countries. 

The educational status of any country is the criterion by 
which its civilization is measured, and when the intel- 

The University Magazine 41 

lectual life of a nation is dealt a serious blow, the effects 
must be evident in the derogation of its national refine- 
ment. Our best writers declare that the present war will 
not result in any depreciation of literature and art, and 
prove their declarations by referring us to the wars of 
the past. But when we turn our attention to the Euro- 
pean universities of today and consider the effects which 
the war has already had, — without ever considering the 
many-fold effects that it must produce if it continues, — 
we cannot believe that the cause of education will survive 
the struggle unimpaired. Beginning with the shameful 
destruction of the old and renowned university at Louvain 
in the early part of the war, and continuing until the 
present day, the drain upon the colleges and universities 
has steadily increased until they have become almost ex- 
hausted of their students, and teachers as well. There is 
probably no better example of the havoc wrought by the 
war on the European institutions of learning than the 
cases of England's foremost universities, Oxford and 

At the beginning of the war there were more than 3,000 
undergraduates enrolled at Oxford; last year there were 
scarcely 500, a number far below the number of Oxford 
men who have already fallen in the war. The freshman 
class numbered less than 200 last term, the smallest num- 
ber that has entered there since the Napoleonic wars, when 
the population of England was only one-half as great as it 
is now. And what makes these figures speak still louder is 
the fact that even this handful of students is composed of 
but few Englishmen. More than 100 of the undergradu- 
ates are Americans, and to judge from the evidence of the 
college quads, a considerable proportion of the remainder 
are natives of British India. The Bhodes scholar is in 
many ways a melancholy spectacle. He has not found the 
Oxford of todav to be the Oxford of his dreams ; he is com- 

42 The University Magazine 

pelled to consort almost entirely with other Americans, an 
association for which he did not need to cross the Atlantic. 
Practically the whole English student body has answered 
the call to the colors and gone to the front, and, at the 
present time, out of the total number of about 10,000 
Oxford men who joined the ranks, more than a thousand 
have fallen in battle, — about one in every ten. And the 
instructors themselves have vied with the students in pa- 
triotic sacrifice. Many have already lost their lives in the 
trenches, others are devoting their time to scientific re- 
search or to service in the Oxford Volunteer Training 
Corps. News comes from Oxford that the college itself 
is now a barracks, and that the instructors have turned 
from their college duties to drill the few young students 
who have not yet gone to the trenches. The parks of the 
colleges are furrowed with trenches, and the whole com- 
munity has taken on the appearance of a military camp. 
The spacious halls have been transformed into hospitals, 
and at the present time there are beds for 1,200 wounded 
soldiers. The Oxford of today is by no means that of three 
years ago. There are no longer any university sports, or 
union debates. The famous old Oxford spirit is gone, 
and the colleges of the university which were once rivals 
in scholarship and athletics now vie with each other in 
their quotas of slain, and in the distinctions which their 
men have gained at the battle front. 

At Cambridge, as at Oxford, the deserted colleges and 
halls have to mourn the absence with the military and naval 
forces of the country of at least 80 per cent of their stu- 
dents. And here, too, as at Oxford, the handful of stu- 
dents who remain is composed for most part of Indians 
and of the physically unfit. Every college of the university 
is almost totally depleted. For instance, one which had 
114 members in 1913 had only nine last year, and Trinity, 
the largest college in any English university, has sunk 

The Univeksity Magazine 43 

from 743 to 71. The science class of one of the well-known 
teachers, which numbered more than 30 in 1913, dwindled 
to three, — a girl, a Chinaman, and a Hindu, — in 1915, 
and now only one of the trio survives. From the very 
outset the students have been eager to offer themselves for 
service at the front. The athletes, especially, came for- 
ward in great numbers. For example, every man of the 
Rugby football team is serving with extraordinary courage, 
and already more than a hundred "Blues" have appeared 
in the casualty lists. In all there are more than 12,000 
Cambridge men in the service of their country, on land, 
at sea, or in the air, and the casualties have so far amount- 
ed to near 3,000 ; with the appalling number of 1,000 
killed. The dons and tutors of Cambridge, too, have 
shown to the fullest extent their willingness to serve the 
country. They have offered their services as freely as the 
students, either in the field or in some kind of indispensa- 
ble governmental work, and not infrequently the death 
lists bear their names alongside those of students whom 
they taught a few months before. 

And what is true of the condition of these English uni- 
versities is true of all the institutions in the great educa- 
tional centers of Europe. In spite of the strict censorship, 
we learn that the universities of Germany, though less de- 
pleted than those of England, have given up near half of 
their students to go to the trenches, and at present they 
are there by the thousand fighting alongside the most ig- 
norant and most uncultured soldiers of the Fatherland. 
From one side of Europe to the other the students have 
been among the first to answer the call to arms, and every- 
where the teachers have responded with the same enthusi- 
asm, all actuated simply by a strong sense of duty and an 
equally strong conviction of the righteousness of their 
cause. Scientists and scholars have laid aside their aca- 
demic gowns to don the khaki, and have taken their place 

44 The University Magazine 

in the rank and file of the army. That indomitable spirit 
of nationalism has caught socialist and aristocrat, peasant 
and prince, and today they are fighting side by side, and 
dying at each other's feet for that mysterious feeling of 
national duty. Already many instructors have delivered 
their last lecture; many chemists have handled their last 
test-tube; many poets have written their last verse; many 
artists have painted their last masterpiece ; and many ora- 
tors have thrilled their last audience. All Europe is in 
arms and every death report carries to every part of the 
world the names of distinguished men who have fallen in 
the trenches. There are few names on the roll of honor 
that have aroused such widespread interest as that of Ru- 
pert Brooke, "dead ere his prime," who "knew himself to 
sing and build the lofty rhyme," but, alas, he has had 
many companions who have in the words of the Greek 
writer, "lavished their own lives that others may live 
happily." These are precious lives lost, not that one life 
is dearer than another in this great military democracy, 
but because their bright future of leadership and useful- 
ness to mankind is destroyed. The thing to be deplored is 
that the "brute bullet" has been given too much chance to 
break through "the brain that would think for the rest." 
Just as in any country, the scholars of Europe are the ones 
on whom depends the future of their civilization, and for 
every one of them that is sacrificed there must be a cor- 
responding degeneration in the life and future of tomor- 
row. The pity of it — to have the very foundation stones 
of our future temple of truth and knewledge swept away 
by this unmerciful and uncompromising storm! War is 
horrible enough under any circumstances, but one cannot 
help a double portion of sorrow at the apparent waste of 
these gifted young scholars and scientists in the trenches. 
Literature and art may gain a new impetus as a result of 
this war, but surely the cause of education in Europe will 

The University Magazine 45 

be dealt a blow the traces of which centuries of time can- 
not obliterate from its countenance. 

It seems that Europe is doomed by the misfortunes of 
this war to surrender the dominant position in the educa- 
tional world which it has maintained for so many cen- 
turies. With the deplorable condition of the country at 
the end of the war, and with the severe losses of teachers 
and students which the foremost universities will have suf- 
fered, Europe cannot hope soon to regain her leadership. 
Already several of the foremost educators of Europe have 
begun work in American institutions, and if the war con- 
tinues, the Mecca of learning will soon be transferred from 
the Old World to the New. ~No longer will students come 
from every part of the world into the educational centers 
of European countries to receive the highest instruction in 
science, literature, and art, but to America. But Heaven 
forbid that we should look upon such a new educational 
era with false pride ! Let us remember that we profit not 
so much by our own achievement as by the losses of others ; 
let us still sympathize with our brothers who have been 
forced to abandon so much of civilization for the savagery 
of war, and feel it our sacred duty to help rehabilitate the 
educational life of the impoverished world. 

46 The University Magazine 



Among those present in our Carnegift on all occasions 
are two supremely nuisancical classes. The first of these 
is the cutters-out. My diction, I trust, is self-explanatory. 
Obviously, cutters-out are those persons who cut things 
out of the University's periodical property; though with 
you, interested fellow grievance, I think that they should 
be rather the ones who are cut out of the library. How 
cussably tantalizing it is to find the last paragraph of an 
interesting column excerpted by some precious censor; 
how deliciously maddening to find half of an absorbing 
joke in Life deleted by a perennial freshman who thus 
early practices the art of excision. In Purgatory, sings 
my Muse to me, these persons are punished by having an 
assistant librarian snip off portions of their hands until 
only the wrist remains. Then the hand springs out anew 
and the process is repeated. Personally, I would be sat- 
isfied with a less barbarous procedure in their castigation 
— say burning them in fires kindled with the results of 
their labors. 

The second class against whom this Phillipic is pri- 
marily hurled are the markers-up. Would that Kluttz 
sold vitriol; how eagerly would I haste to dip my pen 
therein ? Could I properly vent my feelings upon this 
class of malefactors, I would easily be indictable for 
slander, defamation, vilification, and vituperation, not 
to mention assault with intent to kill, if not murder itself. 
There is a supreme annoyance, far beyond the limitations 
of my meager vocabulary to adequately describe, in find- 
ing reference books underlined and annotated by some 
barbarian whose only possible excuse was the possession 
of a pencil and the lack of anything to do with it. Vir- 

The University Magazine 47 

escence is the middle name of all such. Surely they merit 
the famous punishment of the Kanduvians, who, as Spar- 
ticus has so eloquently informed us, were wont to peel 
their prisoners — ay, as potatoes are peeled at Swain Hall — 
and then chop off portions and eat them raw before the 
eyes of their victims. 

So much for the cutters-out and the markers-up. The 
talkers-aloud transcend my abilities at criticism. Their 
high indifference to the common rules of courtesy and to 
the comfort of others cannot but command a certain ad- 
miration. They are first cousins to the whisperers, whose 
sibilant accents lend a hide-and-seek glamour to the game 
of trying to concentrate. These in turn have a family 
connection with that type of Darwin-proofs who scrape 
their weary shoes on the uncarpeted floor. Nor can we 
overlook the claim to recognition of those lineal descend- 
ants of Bacon, in name if not in intelligence, who read one 
magazine the while they retain for future reference sev- 
eral others safely hidden under a half concealing spread 
of paper and arms. 

Ah me! It doth take all kinds and conditions of crea- 
tures to make up this oblate spheroid whereon we have our 
being. Spiders and cutters-out, flies and markers-up, mos- 
quitoes and talkers-aloud, angle worms and whisperers, 
potato bugs and floor-scrapers, rattlesnakes and paper- 
grabbers — all have their duly apportioned purpose, nor do 
I make so bold as to inculpate them. Yes, all have their 
place — but would to the patron saint of libraries that their 
place were far from the maddening crowds of Chapel Hill. 

But blither a bit, thou sweet and gentle soul, thou 
troubled habitue of the reference and reading rooms — in 
Paradise the libraries are noiseless, and there are half 
enough reference books, and some times there is an as- 
sistant at the desk when you desire a book. Let us live 
then in expectation ; let us pray for the soul of the library 

48 The University Magazine 

pests, to the end that by cultivating a reserve of patience 
and hope, we may yet pass first Math, or come away from 
Richmond — victorious. 

— Alfred M. Lindatj. 


Among the innumerable points of interest in the moun- 
tains of Western North Carolina stands out the crowning 
glory of the Appalachians, Mt. Mitchell, rearing its state- 
ly head 6,711 feet above ocean level and constituting an 
objective that lures thousands to its summit each year. 
Like many another object of wonderful beauty in the Land 
of the Sky, the glories of the Mitchell trails have been un- 
sung, and only the traveler with plenty of time and keen 
desire for the unusual and beautiful in nature has hitherto 
braved the somewhat lonely paths to reach a destination 
that held no welcome save that afforded by nature in all its 
sublimity. Now, however, one is able to make the ascent 
under comparatively comfortable circumstances by means 
of a beautiful scenic railway which carries you within 
2,500 feet of your destination. The scenery from this lit- 
tle railroad is exquisite in its variety and beauty. The 
wild flowers that grow in the ravines and emblazon the 
the mountain sides form a regular botanist's paradise and 
have long since been resorted to as a mecca for plant lovers. 
Having reached the end of the road, we take a steep trail 
which after a hard climb brings us to the summit, some- 
what exhausted but already repaid for the energy ex- 
pended in making the trip. 

On top of the mountain we are bewildered by the aston- 
ishing distortion of measurements and proportion. We 
see a tiny stream of smoke issuing from the little train — 
a mere toy — making its return trip down the side of the 
mountain. The whirling river below us appears only a 

The University Magazine 49 

white thread. We watch the sweep of a cloud shadow over 
the landscape and notice that it blankets square miles of 

When sunset times comes on Mitchell the heavens seem 
to array themselves in a galaxy of color and feeling that is 
a perfect benediction to the hours just passed. It holds us 
enthralled until the Appalachian glow illumines the sky 
and the evening star trembles in the west. On the morn- 
ing, when the sun rises above the clouds and all the world 
below is submerged in white sea of mist save here and there 
an island peak, we lose our sense of time and fancy our- 
selves looking out upon the broad expense of that pri- 
mordial sea, which millions of years ago covered these 
mountain tops. ^ TT TT 



As I gazed curiously down on the little world, all bluish- 
green and brown, and as I was almost lost in reverie, 
thinking of a wearisome nineteen centuries of labour and 
toil, a strange occurrence startled me. Out of the depths 
of the calm and smooth Pacific there heaved laboriously 
an island, — very large, indeed, a continent. All gleaming 
in the sunlight, with quiet harbors, sparkling rivers, mas- 
sive mountains, charming lakes — 'twas truly an atsonish- 
ing and pretty sight. "Ah," I thought, "at last a land of 
love, prosperity and peace! A land of industry and dili- 
gence ! A land of health and Godliness ! A land where I 
may hold due sway !" 

Vain hope! Out of the west rose up a king. At his 
behest a million men swarmed out in arms. His ships 
were fully manned with sailors. "Go, seize this new land 
in our name," was his command. "We'll call the country 
Imperium." Foolish man ! Likewise his neighbors arm- 
ed themselves. To "Hoffnung," was the cry of some; of 

50 The University Magazine 

others, "Champs Elysees !" The deep blue oceans, before 
so calm and serene, were now all ruffled in the wake of 
many ships, and in places miniature storms of shot and 
shell stirred its very depths. And, — awful sight, — into 
the peaceful harbors of this fresh new land these armies 
pressed, and bloodied its bright shores with human blood ! 
"Ah, you Newfoundland," I cried, "yours is an ominous 
lot !" 

A different sight diverted me a moment. Near where 
the Potomac blends its waters with the sea there rose a tall 
and stately structure, white as shining snow, a court of 
universal arbitration calling the nations to a fair and hon- 
est settlement of their claims. What? bring men, — no, 
bring mob-spirit, soaked with greed, to reasoning and jus- 
tice ? O noble but fruitless task ! 

For seven years the struggle for this Newfoundland 
went on, — and to what end ? Her forests were burned, 
her rivers polluted, her substance wasted, her prosperity 
ruined for years to come. But worse, her lands divided 
into many provinces each of a foreign tongue and differ- 
ing government. Promise of strife for coming centuries ! 

Sadly I watched. I felt myself estranged from this 
fine land I should have ruled. A true and faithful friend 
of men, yet they mistreat me most, and in one day set all 
my labour of a hundred years at naught. Must this be 
ever so? 

You wish my name ? ; Tis Progress ! 



'Twas the crowning social event of the season and there 
were gathered together on the ball-room floor all the belles 
and beaux of the little southern town. Amongst the bevy 
of beautiful girls could be distinguished one little lady 

The University Magazine 51 

who seemed particularly neat and prim in her attire. She 
did not seem at all haughty in her manner, but just a lit- 
tle bit old-fashioned and very particular as to her attire and 
social etiquette. As the orchestra struck up with a lively 
one-step, a rather husky looking fellow stepped up and re- 
quested the dance with the prim young lady. She replied 
to his request in a rather indifferent manner, saying, "Yes, 
if you'll use your handkerchief" (she was thinking about 
that new evening gown she had on; of course, men never 
notice such things). The young fellow, with a rather in- 
quiring look at her, replied "Certainly," proceeding at 
the same time to pull forth his handkerchief and trumpet 
his aquiline beak. 

— Albert Oettinger. 

52 The University Magazine 

gromtti tfje WLtU 




It is the purpose of the editor of this department to 
publish all well written articles submitted by the students 
dealing with University campus life. In brief this is the 
students' forum. 

Bundle up your kicks or boosts and bring them to any 
member of the editorial staff of this publication. We will 
be glad to get them. All we ask is that you have a sub- 
ject of passing interest, clearly written and have your 
name attached. 

right shoulder arms 

A probable appropriation from the National Congress, 
or the possibility of the development of healthy, robust 
bodies are not the main reasons for the adoption of mili- 
tary training at the University. The cause lies deeper in 
our desire to be useful to our country. 

In days not long past when colleges and universities 
were being founded, it was profitable to adopt military 
training. Each college received certain appropriations 
from Congress to use for this purpose. Then forever 
afterwards a fat check for some considerable sum came 
forthwith to said institution, at some designated time. 
But the boys learned little of the ways of military affairs. 
The recipients of the checks soon forgot the purpose of this 
end of their book account. Military training consequently, 
has been on a decline in nearly every land-grant college in 
the United States for the past few years. 

On the other hand we must relegate to the days of flour- 
ishing military "Prep." schools, when professors made 

The University Magazine 53 

money, the use of the appearance of the military man 
for advertising purposes. Men used to found schools with 
an idea of making money. Military training was one of 
the "telling" features. Their catalogues were handsomely 
decorated with the boys in uniform riding horseback, and 
doing all sorts of interesting stunts connected with the mili- 
tary life. This appealed to the boy, and he in turn pre- 
vailed on his father's pocket book. And it came to pass 
that father was soon separated from his cash, and seldom 
could he say to his son at the end of his course, "well 
done." It took son five years to get out, and then he had 
to pass off entrance conditions before he could enter any 
respectable college or university. 

We do not want military training simply because it 
draws us money, or because it may give us a good body. 
Probably it is well that the land-grant colleges do get these 
appropriations ; and certainly no one would object to a 
sound, healthy body. But above these things, we want 
military training because, as Americans, we want to know 
something about the methods of American warfare. We 
could not obey the command of "Right Shoulder Arms," 
or any other. If we were called upon to defend our coun- 
try, we would not know how, and would have a slim chance 
of learning if the enemy were at our face. "It is better to 
live for your country than to die for it." If war is inevi- 
table, we will have a better chance of living and serving 
our country if we know how to fight. 

— M. B. Fowler. 


Our athletics are on a different basis this year from 
what they have been in years past. This collegiate year 
ushers in for us the "One Year" rule. We may be a trifle 

54 The University Magazine 

behind many of the leading colleges in adopting this rule, 
but now that we have it we all realize how much it means 
to clean college athletics. 

In past years we, as well as every other college, have had 
numerous examples of men coming to school merely for 
the sake of participating in athletics and then dropping 
out of school at the close of the athletic season. These men 
were not true college athletes and their presence was not 
entirely desirable but was not avoidable. The "One Year" 
rule eliminates such occurrences as this, or, at least, re- 
duces them to a minimum. In accordance with this rule, 
a man must have been a "bona fide" student in college for 
at least one year before he is eligible for a position on 
any of our varsity athletic teams. With this rule in force, 
the real student athletes have a chance at places without 
having to compete with men familiarly known as "ringers." 
Henceforth the members of all our varsity teams will 
come from amongst us — there will be no "imported ar- 
ticles" — and we feel sure that our teams will be equally as 
strong as they have been in the past. This much we do 
know, however : Whether the team be strong or whether it 
be weak, whether it lose or win, it shall be truly our team 
and shall receive our undivided support as a consequence. 

— Albert Oettinger. 


I feel sorry for the man who invented grammar. How 
could he know that the students at U. N". C. would reverse 
a large part of his opinions; deciding, for example, that 
punctuation is purely a matter of personal preference, and 
that agreement of verb with subject must be left to the 
operations of chance. So sorry do I feel, gentlemen, 
that I am risen to plead for a return to the old order 

The University Magazine 55 

of things. Let us sacrifice our individuality, and re- 
turn to the fold of the near-purists. The fact that 
fully fifty per cent of the material submitted for this 
issue of the Magazine would not receive a passing grade 
on First English should cause a halt in our mad pursuit 
of the incorrect. To arms, civitates ! With Eddy Green- 
law's banner flying before, let us rally to the cause of 
decent English. 

— Pseudonymous. 

The North Carolina College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts 

Young men seeking an education which will equip them for practical 
life in Agriculture, and all its allied branches; in Civil, Electrical, and 
Mechanical Engineering; in Chemistry and Dyeing; in Textile or oth- 
er industries, and in Agricultural teaching will find excellent pro- 
vision for their chosen careers at the State's great technical college. 

Numerous practical short courses E. B. OWEN, Registrar 

For catalogue, and entrance blanks, write Wegt rj^Jj J. c. 



Cy Thompson Says — 

IP you had a thousand lives to live, perhaps you could afford not to 
insure. But you are just one man and have only one life to live — and to 

Life Insurance puts behind the frailty of one man standing alone the ♦ 
immeasurable strength of many men standing together. It neutralizes the Y 
calamity that chance may bring to an individual by distributing the risk 
over many individuals through the operation of the law of average. 

Largely because of the famous Massachusetts laws and strict super- 
vision, no Massachusetts legal reserve company has ever retired, or amal- 
gamated; or oecome insolvent. 

The New England Mutual is not only the original Massachusetts Com- 
pany, but it is the rst mutual old line legal reserve company chartered in 

Its policy contract carries the principle of Mutality to its logical 
and absolute limit. 

In buying life insurance, contract for the superior service, of the 
old, old 


Chartered 1835 

Cyrus Thompson, Jr., Special Agent Eugene C. McGinnis, General Agen 

Raleigh, N. C. IRaleigh, N. C. 

Everything In Stationery at 




University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 

No. 2 

New Series Vol. 34 



Editorial Comment 59 

A Man and a Maid — Et Fata Dominata 

Quint on Holton 63 

Before Others Do You Harris Copenhaver 73 

Autumn (Poem) Oliver Rand 81 

A Two- Fold Victory E. E. Groves 82 

The Hale-marks of Time R. L. Young 87 

The Siren Call (Poem) Moses Rountree 91 

The Passing of the "Rah Rah" Boy 

Aubrey M. Elliott 93 

European Women After the War R. W. Madry 99 

Prelude to Lohengrin (Poem) E. B. 102 

Sketches 103 

To the Davie Poplar (Poem) 108 

Around the Well 110 

Exchanges 116 


University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Bditor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. Steele, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau Albert Oettinger 

Frank ClarvoE A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 
William York, Dialectic 

The University op North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

Old Series Vol. 47 No. 2 New Series Vol. 34 

€bttortal Comment 


From reports that the members of the Carolina football 
team have brought back from their various trips, it seems 
that college hospitality in the South is a reality in name 
only. Some fifteen or twenty years ago it was thought 
only right that students of one college should receive the 
visiting team in any manner except with civility. The 
older members of the faculty tell us how the Carolina boys 
once brought forth their genius in order to make the stay 
of a visiting team as uncomfortable as possible. While 
such unmanly conduct is a relic of the past in so far as it 
concerns us, we are sorry to say that it still has a grip on 
a few Southern colleges. 

The first game away from the Hill this season took our 
team to Princeton University where the "Down Homers" 
were received and treated as worthy rivals. Although 
they came back without a victory, they were highly pleased 
with the trip because the sting of defeat had been some- 
what removed by the courteous treatment they had received 
from the Princeton students. 

One week later the team invaded what is supposed to 
be cold-hearted New England. What a warm reception ! 
Not only did the Harvard Athletic Association give the 
Tar Heels a welcome that would do honor to a brigade of 

60 The University Magazine 

college presidents, but "Old Puritanic Boston" received 
the Southern lads with open arms and gave them a re- 
ception such as they have never received from a Southern 
city or college. 

And we boast of our Southern hospitality. 

On a recent return from the South, the boys were not 
so much depressed over defeat, but were smarting as a re- 
sult of inhospitable treatment they had received from the 
Athletic Association and student body in general of a 
Southern institution. Our manager says he received the 
same courteous consideration from the rival manager of 
this Southern institution that Henry IV received from 
Gregory VII at Conossa. Between halves the Carolina 
players were compelled to sit on the cold ground and re- 
ceive the insulting epithets hurled at them by the students 
and the less refined element that composed the body of 

And yet we boast of our Southern hospitality ! 


An exchange makes the statement: "American univer- 
sity life is too highly organized for the students to get 
the best possible benefit from their regular studies." The 
assertion should prove of interest to the Carolina man, for 
perhaps there is no university campus more highly or- 
ganized than ours. 

This does seem to be an age of organization. Almost 
every successful rural community does its work through 
organization. The farmer, the housewife, the capitalist 
and the society woman are all organized. Why not ? Has 
not experience taught us that the best possible results are 
always obtainable through organization ? 

But will this apply to college life? By applying the 
question to the University of North Carolina we are made 
cognizant of the fact that our exchange, in many cases at 

The University Magazine 61 

least, is not far from right. Yet, many of these social ac- 
tive and honorary organizations are an essential part of 
our college life. The evil lies in the fact that we use no 
discretion as to the number of clubs and fraternities we 
join, or the amount of time they are going to demand from 
us as loyal members. The Senior, who is somewhat popu- 
lar among faculty and students, often finishes his last year 
in college handicapped with a load of extra curriculum 
work, so much so that when the year is over he wonders if 
he really did get the best possible development for the 
money and time spent. 

We are not condemning all such activities, for there are 
those which if taken moderately and earnestly, tend to 
bring a fellow to himself, but not so if they cause a lax 
interest in his regular studies. 


In prehistoric times, if a man was in need of nourish- 
ment, we are told that he got it by the easiest means pos- 
sible. He considered only the desires of himself and im- 
mediate family. In those days men went from one point 
to another by the shortest and easiest route. Why not ? 
They cared nothing for the beauty of the forest, but rather 
looked upon it as a place of concealment when danger 
threatened, or as a place where food might be found. 

A few thousand years have made a wonderful change 
in the human race. In some communities people have 
grass covered lawns and in order to preserve them, they 
have laid out walks for pedestrians to travel along; in 
others, due to environment and surroundings in general, 
the race has not made quite so much progress towards pre- 
serving the beautiful in nature. 

Every year a very few students come to the University 
from these pre-historic settlements and they generally bring 
with them that ancestrial instinct to take the shortest route 

62 The University Magazine 

from one point to another. By standing near the south 
end of the Alumni Building one may pick them out. He 
may also pick out the fellow who will never make a leader 
in human activities. This one is the man who is willing 
to follow the lead set by another without questioning his 


It might be supposed by some unthinking person, or by 
some one suffering with a lingering germ of a "previous 
condition of greenness/' that the entire make-up of this 
publication is literary. It is our sincere desire that anyone 
laboring under any such delusion shall banish forever this 
erroneous idea. However, let no one think for a moment 
that we are alluding to those pages numbered by the 
printer. Our reference is to those unnumbered pages be- 
fore and after those learned dissertations and fervent con- 
vulsions set forth by our students. Nevertheless, these 
twenty-four pages overlooked by the printer make possible 
the other fifty-four. The men who put them there have 
what might be termed the "dollar pep." Every firm in- 
dicated therein is reliable. They have something to sell. 
Since they have "pep" enough to furnish the wherewithal 
to make this publication possible, and thereby foster a 
literary spirit at Carolina, let us see that their purses 
are replenished when we have anything to buy in their 

The University Magazine 63 

3 Jfflan anb a Jfflaib— €t Jfata JBomtnata 


"Mother?" quavered a trembling voice from the little 

"Yes, dear ; what does mother's darling want ?" 

"Has Dr. Jack gone I" 

"No, darling; and he's going to stay while you go to 
sleep. That's mother's pet; now let's be still." 

The little voice grew quiet, and the tired mother's weary 
eyes gazed anxiously into the little sufferer's face. 

"Mother !" came the plaintive whisper again, "an angel 
told me just now that I was going to see little brother; 
and he said Dr. Jack would tell you about it. But mother, 
I'm afraid; I don't want to go; mother, you won't let 
him take me, will you ?" 

"No, dear; not now," and the mother's voice shook 
with tears as her brain reeled wildly at the new signifi- 
cance of the doctor's words — ominous as she recalled them 
— that the little sufferer would probably rest more peace- 
fully by morning. 

A servant appeared, took a message, and hurried off. 
Dr. Walton crossed the room to the sick child. Urging 
the mother to take a little rest, he sat down in her place 
beside the crib, taking in his hot palm the feverish little 
hand extended to him. Implicit love and trust flushed the 
baby face ever so faintly as it gazed once into the kindly 
brown eyes of the doctor and then fell quietly asleep with 
a smile on its lips. For her own Dr. Jack was watching 
by her crib, and she felt secure. It was he who had taken 
her 'most every day into his big new car with little brother 
for a ride over town. It was he who had brought her a big 
talking doll all the way from New York, and bought her 
ice cream cones and candy 'most every day. It was her 
own dear Dr. Jack who had taken her over to his and 

64 The University Magazine 

Aimt Flora's house when daddy and little brother were 
sick so long till the angels came and took them away, when 
mother was so sad and broken-hearted and cried so much. 
And so, the doctor and the little five years-old were left 
alone in the silent watches of the lone midnight. 

Intense longing and pain marked the kindly features of 
the physician as he gazed into the fair young face. How 
like another's it seemed to him, — a picture of by-gone 
days ! With a peculiar tenderness, he bent down and 
gently kissed the fevered brow. Yes, there were the golden 
curls (what was left of them) ; there were the silken lashes ; 
there was the perfect mouth ; and in all, the loving trust 
of a cherub face of long, so long ago. Could they but have 
gazed a moment upon the scene and have beheld the yearn- 
ing look in his eyes, the young ladies of two states — and 
the older ones, too, as for that matter — might have picked 
up a valuable clew to the tantalizing mystery of Dr. Wal- 
ton's being a confirmed young bachelor. But they could 
not see; and by the time the anxious mother returned to 
her vigil after a three hours' rest, the secret was no longer 
on the surface ; and Dr. Walton was the same gentle, cour- 
teous professional man of genial dignity as ever. 

Black Mammy came in and sat down before the fire, and 
the doctor left to return at daybreak. The little girl was 
still sleeping quietly, and he went away with a peculiar 
sensation of joy in his heart. He had done better than 
his best, and he felt strangely hopeful. Little Mary Wal- 
ton would get well. 

Scarcely had the automobile stopped in the star-light 
before the doctor's residence and the occupant reached the 
sidewalk, when the door of the little Southern cottage hall 
opened with a flood of light and an anxious voice rang 
out : " John, is that you ? Have you been over at Eggles- 
ton's all this time ? I got the note, but what kept you so- 
long?" And without waiting for an answer, "There's a 

The University Magazine 65 

fire in your room; now go right to bed, and don't get up 
till I call you. It's almost morning, child;, and you 
haven't slept half a night in a week !" 

Aunt Flora was a dear little nervous old maid with 
the kindest heart in the world ; but she could not see the 
difference in John Walton now and John Walton twenty- 
five years ago, when it was her duty to scold him every 
time he remained out late. The two lived only for each 
other, as they had for the forty-two years of the nephew's 
life; and if circumstances about them had changed, there 
was at least no change in their affections. The doctor's 
long absence in the I^orth seemed only to have made the 
union closer. And so, with a gentle pat on the cheek of 
the little lady and a peck of a kiss, the truant boy mounted 
the stairs to his room. 

But there was to be no sleep. He removed his shoes 
and rested his feet on the fender. His gaze fell upon the 
glowing coals ; and in what he saw there, he lived over his 
past life. There came to his mind a sunny Sunday morn- 
ing in June. The mountain side was a wilderness of 
bloom. The brook flowed gaily. Daisies of varying hue 
nodded in the meadow even down to the water's edge. The 
little birds sang cheerily as only the mountain birds can 
sing in their cool retreats apart from the warm, calm 
noontide. He was walking beside Aunt Flora, — a quiet, 
sober youth of twenty, drinking deep of nature's wine 
after a dusty, cut-and-dried sermon at the little church. 
Beside them romped two children — one, a bright, cheery 
lad of seven, his little cousin, Edward Eggleston, who was 
"going to go to the university some day to study medicine 
with Cousin Jack;" the other, a dainty, thoughtful little 
maid of five, Mary Douglas, one of "Cousin" Jack's class 
of children, "Aunt" Flora's pet, and general favorite of 
the community. She declared that she was " 'Cousin' 
Jacks's little sweetheart," and — yes — "Cousin" Jack 

66 The University Magazine 

agreed, and tried to explain it, even to himself, that he 
loved all the children, as he did her. 

The wind shook the shutters ; a shadow passed over the 
coals ; the scene was changed. The night of the children's 
recitation contest at the little school came up, when little 
Mary had lost, and had had her child's broken heart healed 
with "Cousin" Jack's assuring her that she really did the 
best of all, he thought ; and when he had given her a bright 
new gold dollar for it, and, in return, she had given him 
the first kiss, — a passionate little sweetheart of eight. 

Another change; and now came the memory of the 
amusing little controversy between the jealous little girl 
and the white-haired old lady who claimed her sweetheart, 
and the earnest, serious settlement of it, — "Cousin" Jack 
might go to Mrs. Marshe's for dinner once a month, if he 
wanted to, for three years ; and the old lady would be dead 
by that time, surely, for she was sixty-seven years old 
now and an invalid. He remembered again in his reverie 
the cherubic joy on the face of the little maid after the 
Methodist circuit rider's sermon on that Sunday of long 
ago when she had spent the sermon hour reckoning up 
the common parlance equivalent of three score and ten, 
and triumphantly announced to him its bearing in the case 
immediately afterward.. And the old lady must, in re- 
turn for this concession, stop calling him "sweetheart." 

And so old memories came. The young-old man — for 
his hair was yet untinged with gray and his features yet 
youthful in spite of a strikingly grave expression — recalled 
how he had repeatedly tried to put aside the childish fancy ; 
how he had, among other children, tried to persuade him- 
self that Mary Douglas was no more to him than they; 
how, in his college course, he had formed fast friendships 
among the young ladies of his age; how he had almost 
become engaged to a dear young girl whom he had met 
at a summer resort ; and how, nevertheless, the eternal 

The University Magazine 67 

yearning at his heart for the child of his first peculiar 
love always returned to shatter his attempts. He re- 
called how the childish scrawl of a letter from that little 
hand affected him ever more shrillingly than all the rest. 
But he had never hinted his deep affection to her. How 
could he? The little girl's simple trusting love, like a lily, 
was too pure to be handled. And she had never suspected, 
— perhaps. 

The fire burned low. Tremulous shadows stole upward, 
ever encroaching upon the flickering blue flame that flitted 
over the dying embers. Now he lived over again the late 
university days, when an unwise investment had reduced 
Aunt Flora's income to scarcely enough to live on; when 
he had only by hook and crook and severest effort scraped 
together barely enough to keep him at his chosen study. 
A pauper, he could not express his love now. It would be 
unjust to presume upon the childhood affection of the 
young maiden even if he were sure she returned his pas- 
sion. And with time a persistent nagging inclination to 
doubt assailed him. So his love remained unexpressed; 
and her implicit, almost filial, affection for him remained 
— nothing more. Deep in his heart, Walton had kept his 
secret close. Neither Aunt Flora, nor his most intimate 
friend, — he did not believe in intimate friends — nor Mary 
Douglas herself should know of it ; he had resolved, and his 
resolution had been realized. 

On leaving Hopkins at thirty-two, Jack Walton had lo- 
cated in New York; and after three years of struggle, he 
was making good. He had put Edward through Hopkins, 
and the two were partners with a large practice. He could 
yet express his love, and the time should not now be long. 
Eggleston could manage the practice alone for a while 
with the aid of an assistant when he came back from his 
vacation, and he himself would just run down to Carolina 
and settle the matter. Mary Douglas would graduate in 

68 The University Magazine 

June, and he would make that the time. An occasional 
letter from her hand still found him out, and he was sure 
there could be no change in her affection. The recent 
picture on his mantel, he thought, still revealed the con- 
fiding love and trust of old. His plans were laid. The 
ring was already in his cabinet, and only today he had 
purchased a necklace of pearls as a gift. But "best laid 
schemes . . . gang aft aglee" ; a telegram was given 
him announcing the wedding of his cousin, partner, and 
dearest chum, to the girl of his heart. Why had John 
Walton kept his secret so closely that even his partner 
knew not of it ? Why had he so negligently waited 1 Why 
had he not suspected the object of Eggleston's visits to 
Stanford, especially when he spoke so tenderly of "Miss 
Douglas ?" And her letters almost invariably mentioned 
him! Why had he never realized that Edward was no 
longer a curly-haired boy and Mary a little girl ? He took 
the little package of letters from his cabinet and read them 
hungrily. Yes, he might have known it all along. For 
his mutton-headedness, he cursed himself bitterly in his 
wild despair and disappointment. Then he took comfort 
in the fact that Edward would make her happy; and sec- 
ond thought told him that the two young beings on earth 
whom he loved as his own soul were better mated anyway 
than he himself and his loved one would have been, — 
characteristic of the intellectual-emotional paradox John 
Walton was ? He would seal his broken heart and in it 
wall up the secret of a life-time. ~No one knew, anyhow, 
and he had endured pain and disappointment before. They 
seemed to be his portion. He would not complain now. 
Of course the vacation was abandoned. The ring remain- 
ed in the cabinet, but the pearls and an old watch, a valued 
heirloom, which Edward had so often admired, were forth 
with expressed ; and a letter of tenderest love and heartfelt 

The University Magazine 69 

good wishes speedily followed to rejoice the happy hearts 
of the young couple. 

Thereupon Walton had plunged ruthlessly into his work 
with a vigor and resolution that occupied his every mo- 
ment; and within a year he had doubled his practice. 
Meanwhile, social obligations had been cancelled, with no 
diminution of popular esteem — if with a decidedly in- 
creased curiosity on the part of his friends — and letter- 
writing had become a thing of other days. Only Aunt 
Flora received her weekly note. 

Eggleston did not return to New York. His health, 
never strong, began to fail, and, as there was a good open- 
ing in the little Carolina town, Walton insisted on his lo- 
cating there. In truth, he hoped from the bottom of his 
heart that they might never come to New York. 

Years of happiness followed for the young couple, and 
Walton was magnanimous enough to take a stoical pleas- 
ure in their happiness. A little girl was born, and from 
Eggleston's great admiration for his cousin she was named 
Mary Walton, the father remaining in absolute ignorance 
of the heart-wrench the letter bearing the information 
brought to his friend and cousin. One thing worried 
him not a little however; he could not understand why 
he so seldom heard from his friend since the marriage. 
His wife, too, was much concerned, for she shared Ed- 
ward's sincere love and reverence for Cousin Jack. Now 
Edward, Jr., was born, and the happiness of the little 
family was complete. Dr. Eggleston was a thoroughly 
likable fellow, and he had speedily assumed a large and 
lucrative practice. Two years later, typhoid struck the 
town, and the much-loved physician contracted the dis- 
ease. His case became desperate, and he trusted only 
Walton's skill to save him. Accordingly, a telegram once 
more found his New York friend in a reverie over the 
ring in his library. 

70 The University Magazine 

"My fate again !" groaned the distracted man. "God ! 
will it never cease ? How can I go ?" 

But he could not fail his young friend ; and accordingly, 
Dr. Walton found himself on the morning of the second 
day once again in the dear little village of vanished bliss. 
Loyally did he work, and nobly, for the life of the sick 
man, his one friend for whom he had, after a struggle to 
be sure, calmly resigned his dearest hope. But he had ar- 
rived too late. What was worse, the baby, too, was soon 
stricken ; and within a season, the grass grew green on the 
graves of both. 

A year passed. He had remained at Aunt Flora's earn- 
est pleading. He had not taken a vacation in more than 
ten years, anyway; so he felt content to stay, especially 
since Eggleston's death had thrown the community with- 
out a physician whom it trusted. He was a wealthy man, 
besides; and the little place afforded him enough practice 
to pass his time. He had comforted the widowed mother 
as best he could. He had brought her safely back from the 
door of death with the fatherly tenderness of dead mem- 
ories. In all this time, his full heart had not once over- 
flowed in the least with its passion which would not die; 
but he felt more and more that he must leave the place 
and get far from the scenes of old before it should break 
with its sorrow. He had packed his belongings and 
was prepared to start for New York in the morning, when 
the call came for him to come to the bedside of his little 
name-sake who had been suddenly stricken. And then 
the long sickness and brave struggle of the little one. And 
so he lingered; the stars were working in their courses to 
detain him, it seemed. 

John Walton thought it all over as he looked into the 
fire. How could he endure to stay longer ? Arising from 
his reverie at last, he turned out the light preparatory to 
taking a nap across the bed. To his surprise, the dim 

The University Magazine 71 

light of lawn strained through his curtains. Hastily and 
cautiously taking his case, he went to the barn, and, har- 
nessing his horse himself, one of his few luxuries, set out 
in the cool, breezy, May morning to attend his little pa- 
tient. He found the child still sleeping, and the wan 
mother's face brightened with gratitude and happiness 
when he announced that it was practically out of danger. 
The child's eyes opened, and the winning smile played on 
her lips as she recognized her doctor friend. 

"Dr. Jack ?" came in feeble tones. 

"Yes, rosebud ; what is it ?" 

Unconsciously, he had used the very word he had used 
so often in addressing his pet of the past in olden days; 
but he did not see the faint tinge of color in the sad face 
beside him. 

"Do you know what I want most of all V 

"Yes ?" 

"Daddy's gone to live with God and the angels. Won't 
you be my Daddy Jack, and live with us always ?" 

Dr. Walton had smiled and instinctively trembled at 
the child's covert way of putting the request in the outset. 
"Like my little one again," he whispered to himself as he 
stooped and kissed the fair forehead. The little arms 
closed about his neck, and he grasped the full import of 
the innocent question. 

"Yes, sweetheart, I will," he answered. 

A month later, a wedding was solemnized in the little 
church of the Sunday school class and dusty sermons of 
twenty-two long years ago, and John Walton was doubly 
married — in the first place, to the sweetheart of his youth ; 
in the second place, to the little Southern community, the 
cross of his middle age. The populace had turned out en 
masse to honor the occasion, and the enthusiasm and sin- 
cere love and admiration of the crowd had decided Wal- 

72 The University Magazine 

ton's mind to locate for life in the place. And what a life 
it should be ! After all, the flowers were blooming on the 
hillside as of yore ; and the daisies were still nodding along 
the water's edge. In comparison to the loveliness of Na- 
ture and the wealth of joy in his heart, what could New 
York offer now ? Again, as of yore, Walton was walking 
beside the brook contentedly drinking in the pure draughts 
of Nature ever young, while the birds caroled sweetly and 
the June breeze gently blew this time, with his darling at 
his side; and two happy children, Mary Eggleston and 
dear old Aunt Flora, were gathering daisies in the field. 

The University Magazine 73 

"before ©tfjet* 2Bo gou" 


Stingy ! Why, old Uncle Ebe Slocum was so stingy he 
licked the gummed tobacco juice out of the corners of his 
mouth instead of taking a fresh chew. He wouldn't have 
paid a dime to see the battle of Waterloo staged with the 
original cast. 

Now, when wind and temperature form a frigid con- 
spiracy to make a man like Uncle Ebe buy an overcoat, 
offering him only the disagreeable alternative of freezing, 
— well, it's going to be like pulling eye teeth for the old 
man to extract the requisite rinktum for the said garment, 
but it will come. 

Matters had come to such a pass with Uncle Ebe. He 
carried the mail on a route from Tellico Junction, and 
yesterday his old horse hadn't cracked the crust of frozen 
mud all day. So Uncle Ebe decided that he could feed 
the ancient and faithful brute one bundle of fodder less 
every day for two years and pay for a cheap coat. 

This laudable conclusion reached, he pushed down on 
the latch and entered Josiah Sharp's establishment for the 
dispensation of dry goods, clothing, staple and fancy groc- 
eries. Josiah was notoriously kind-hearted and easy-going. 
Twice had he been bankrupt because he wouldn't sue for 
accounts. For ten years Uncle Ebe had " jewed" him be- 
low cost price on practically every purchase. 

"Gentlemen," he saluted the little group, who, sitting 
close up to the red-hot stove, were squirting tobacco juice 
into the sand-box and putting the government on a firm 
military and financial footing. 

"Howdy. Howdy, Uncle Ebe. Chilly, hain't it ?" Jo- 
siah rose from the only chair, and Doc Watts, horse, cow, 
and human, immediately left a crippled box and de- 

74 The Univeesity Magazine 

posited himself therein. "Sell ye sumpin' thi' mornin', 
Uncle Ebe ?" inquired Josiah. 

"We-ell, I dnnno hardly. You mout 'n agin you 
moutn't," answered TJncle cautiously. "Mebbe we could 
do a little trading if prices is right.' 7 

Josiah put a long chin in his collar, rubbed a red mus- 
tache streaked with gray and waited. Uncle Ebe hadn't 
bought a dollar's worth of stuff from him for more than 
ninety cents in the last ten years. And give him just a 
little encouragement about prices being right and he'd 
get a dollar's worth for eighty-five cents. Josiah was wise- 
ly silent. 

"What cudje do fer me on an overcoat V asked Uncle 
Ebe at last. 

"Shore, I've got hit. Right around here," exclaimed 
Josiah heartily. "JSTow here's a fust-class un fer fifteen 
dollars — the last un I've got, too, I bleeve." 

"Fifteen. A-i-i, that aint yore best on hit, Josiar. I 
didn't figger on payin' quite that. Times is hard and 
money scace. I had the offer uv a good coat over at Pick- 
lese's fer twelve. But, bein' as me'n you lied alius traded, 
I thought you mout do me a little better." 

"Wool's up," said Josiah. "I couldn't buy that there 
coat now fer fifteen dollars. You know I'm right up agin 
it myself, Uncle Ebe, with Mandy bein' down all winter, 
'n doctor bills. I'd like to sell ye, but I can't cut off my 
profits, spechully whin I need 'em worse'n you." 

"Bizness is bizness, Josiar. I jist thought I ortn't to 
buy without seein' you. Guess I'll be movin' on to Pick- 

Josiah looked at Uncle Ebe steadily a minute. Ten 
years he had sold him goods, sometimes at a loss. Ten 
years. And it was haggle, haggle, haggle all the time. 
No satisfaction, no profit. Josiah Sharp liked to get 
along with people, else would the little Slocums long 

The University Magazine 75 

ago have been carrying their eggs to exchange for two pen- 
ny pencils to Pickles's, the great rival establishment. He 
plncked a pencil from over his right ear and scratched 
some specks of dandruff from his head. Ten years of 
"jewing." He had stood it patiently. That was his way. 
Now he needed to make this sale for the ready money he 
would get even if he made no profit. Ten years during 
prosperity and adversity had Uncle Ebe relentlessly beat 
him below cost on every sale. He had stood for it ten 
years. And now Uncle Ebe would beat him again or trade 
with his rival. But he needed to make the sale. 

"Uncle Ebe," he said slowly, "wait here a minute till 
I go upstairs. I've got a coat up there I want you to see." 

"Fetch it down, Josiar. Yes, fetch it. We ort a trade." 

Josiah mounted the stairs slowly. He did everything 
with about the same alarcity that a snail would be expected 
to display in a funeral procession. Uncle Ebe shuffled 
back and warmed his hands by hooking them around the 
stove pipe. 

"It's a gittin' to whar a man can't hardly make ends 
meet on what the guvment pays him fer totin' the mail," 
he remarked in a general way. 

But there were two in the crowd from whom Uncle Ebe 
had gleaned five dollars apiece last summer as the price 
of not going to law over a matter of a couple of water- 
melons which he had caught them unostentatiously remov- 
ing from his patch during the wee small hours of the 
stilly night, and his plaint met with a glum reception. 

"Josiar must be makin' that overcoat," remarked Doc. 

"No, I wan't makin' hit — just like to a' never found 
hit," said the merchant, easing down the steps with the 
garment in question. "Come on up to the front whar it's 
light, Uncle Ebe, if you're warmed up, 'n let's look hit 

They moved up toward the front of the store. Josiah 

76 The University Magazine 

held up the coat for Uncle Ebe's inspection. It was not a 
prepossessing looking garment. A few spider webs were 
draped about over it ; one button was hanging by a thread. 
A few fine short hairs clung to it here and there. Josiah 
silently flicked at them with his middle finger. 

"Forty dollars old man Picklesimar, Mandy's paw, give 
fer that coat in Knoxville, though you wouldn't think so 
to look at it. But he c'lected forty dollars from Jimson 
up there, 'n this coat's all he brung back to show fer it. 
You ric'llect he wuz brought back sick 'n died that very 
night. He wuz stuck on his coat a lot, too, fer jist before 
he died — pore old feller, he passed out without knowin' 
none of us — he wuz mumblin' 'bout havin' put forty dol- 
lars in a overcoat. Mandy's funny about things, 'n she 
never even let me put hit on, but hung it away careful with 
the rest uv his things. We lived upstairs in the store then, 
'n hit hain't been tetched since." 

"I dunno, Josiar, I dunno. Ye'd have to make me a 
mighty good figger on hit. Looks like it had been wore 

"One time, Uncle Ebe, Mandy'd have wild duck fits if 
she knowed I'se sellin' it, but I'm rubbed so clost fer 
money, that I'll let ye have hit ? bein' as ye're an old cus- 
tomer, fer twenty dollars." 

Uncle Ebe raised a hand. "A-i, ai, have to beat that a 
little, Josiar." 

"Try hit on," urged Josiah. "Ye're gittin' fifty dollars 
fer twenty, fer wool's gone up that much since hit was 

"No use foolin' with hit," replied Uncle Ebe. 

But Josiah helped him into the coat. "It'll keep ye 
warm 'n snug ez a bug in a rug," he pleaded. " '~N it'll 
save ye three coats, fer it'll last ye the rest uv yer nacheral 
life. The linin's strong, 'n the pockets — " 

Uncle Ebe ran his hands down in the pockets. He half 

The University Magazine 77 

pulled his right hand out again and started to speak. Then 
he darted a shrewd look at Josiah. His hand had en- 
countered a bulging pocketbook down deep in the jocket 
of the old coat. He looked at the edge of the coat. Fray- 
ed. Ah, it had been worn more than one time. Forty 
dollars in a coat. The old man had meant in the pocket, 
of course. The coat was probably one he had borrowed or 
bought for a little of nothing in Knoxville. And that slow 
fool, Josiah Sharp, thought he meant he had invested that 
much in the coat. No wonder he periodically went bank- 

But Uncle Ebe was not the man to jump to a conclusion. 
He fingered the pocketbook again. He had felt bills 
through thin leather before. They were there. Josiah 
had put one foot on the counter and was tying together 
again a much-knotted shoe string. Without looking up, 
he said, "I can't make it to ye fer less'n twenty." 

Twenty for forty, and a pretty good old plug of an 
overcoat to boot. " 'N I dunno if I orta sell hit at all. 
Mandy'll raise happy hallylooyar," Josiah drawled irreso- 

Twenty for forty. Uncle Ebe hesitated. Not that he 
had any scruples. He had looked out for Uncle Ebe so 
long that the other fellow in a deal had become to him 
simply a candidate for skinning. But the money might 
not be there. 

"Wait till I step down here to the winder 'n look fer 
moth holes. I wouldn't want to buy it if it's et up with 

The old man turned. His grip on the pocketbook tight- 
ened. His yellow old face folded into a few tough wrink- 
les ; his eyes sparkled, and the hairy nostrils of his hooked 
nose dilated, as he stepped — a little briskly in spite of him- 
self — toward the door. He turned behind the end of a 
counter from Josiah, near the window, and glanced swift- 

78 The Univebsity Magazine 

ly toward the merchant. Josiah was looking keenly at 
him, but let his gaze fall. 

"Hain't no holes in it, is they ?" he asked. 

With one hand Uncle Ebe pulled the pocketbook level 
with the mouth of the pocket, while he smoothed the flap 
with the other seeming to scan it minutely for moth holes. 
The purse was of the snap-shut variety. Noiselessly the 
old man opened it and peered keenly and quickly between 
his finger and thumb. Greenbacks ! He saw a "U. S." 
and a "One" on the outside bill of the roll. — And, like a 
hot shot, the pocketbook dropped down into its old position. 
Josiah was shuffling toward him. 

Uncle Ebe's eyes assumed their customary dead, dull 
blue; he slouched against the counter. 

"Kin we trade ?" asked Josiah. "Is they enny holes to 
amount to enny thing?" 

"Yeh, a few," answered Uncle Ebe, his voice quivering 
with eagerness, despite his assumed indifference, "but I 
reckon I'll take it, holes, moths and," he raised his voice so 
the group around the fire could hear and witness a legal 
agreement in case Josiah ever discovered the swindle — 
"holes, moths, spider webs, and all the rest uv the stuff 
that's in it." He laughed nervously. 

Josiah hesitated. "I'm really sorry to sell hit. Mandy's 
so queer about things like that." He vacillated. 

"Twenty dollars." Uncle Ebe hastily pulled a roll of 
bills from his jeans trousers and counted off the price into 
Josiah's hand. His lean, knotted, old fingers, with their 
dirty, claw-like nails, trembled. Did Josiah suspect? 
Had he seen something? 

"Why, Josiar, you've done traded. Smoke's gone up 
the chimbley, as the kids say, ha ?" He pressed the money 
into Josiah's hand, which hesitatingly, reluctantly, closed 
over it. 

The old man chuckled. Yet he jocularly once more 

The University Magazine 79 

persisted, so that those around the fire might hear. "I 
reckon you're throwin' in the moths and spider webs 'n 
other stuff with it. Hey ? Har ! Har !" 

"Yeh, you've bought hit all. Want hit wropped up ? 
Gonta wear hit. Well, don't let Mandy see ye with hit 
on. Porely ez she is, I bleeve I won't worry her by savin' 
enny thing about sellin' hit." 

* ■* 4f # * * * * 

Ten minutes later Uncle Ebe nervously pushed the latch 
down and again entered the store of big-hearted, shiftless, 
good-natured Josiah Sharp. He was evidently agitated, 
and clumped spryly and nervously back toward the stove. 

Josiah rose. "Sumpin' else, Uncle Ebe V 

Uncle Ebe motioned him to come to the front of the 
store. Solemnly the little crowd around the sand-box 
winked at each other and steadily they cut their picnic 

"Josiah," quavered Uncle Ebe, "I don't bleeve I need 
this coat after all. And since ye sold it agin yer will, I'm 
willin' to swamp back even 'n call hit square." 

Josiah looked at the old man and grinned. "Ye're purty 
slick, old Ebe Slocum. I've lost money ever time ye've 
bought goods f rum me fer nigh about ten year. We traded 
fair and square on that coat in the presence of witnesses. 
Now I'll give ye a dollar 'n ten cents fer it back — a dollar 
fer the bill I wrapped them snuff coupons in, 'n a dime fer 
my pocketbook, which cost me a quarter. I don't consider 
the coat worth nothin'. The cat's slep on it since I quit 
wearin' hit two year ago." 

"Don't sell, Uncle Ebe," sang out a voice from the 
stove, "Yer wife can make carpet rags out uv hit." 

Uncle Ebe said nothing. He seemed to shrink up in- 
side the old coat; his face fell down into the worn collar. 
He feebly pulled the coat around him and tottered toward 
the front door. 

80 The University Magazine 

Without raising his head, lie opened the door. A gust 
of wintry wind, spiked with sleet, nearly hurled him back 
into the store. He shivered and bent his head still lower. 

Then after him darted good old slow Josiah, magnani- 
mous contrition written large on his face. 

"Pore old feller ! I didn't think he'd take it so hard. 
I did do him wrong. Boys, I'll trade back — " 

To a man the sand-box brigade rushed to Josiah ere he 
reached the door. Four pairs of hands pulled him back. 

"No, you don't," said Doc. "They's times when good- 
heartedness hain't a virtchu, 'n this is one. The old skin- 
flint !" 

Uncle Ebe needed his overcoat that day on the mail 
route. For, though the weather had moderated, somehow 
he got colder. And that night his old nag began a process 
of dieting, with two ears of corn and a bundle of fodder 
less for a starter. 

The University Magazine 81 



Autumn the alchemist with us again, 
Emerald to amethyst wondrous to man, 

Turning leaves golden, 

Elves of the olden 
Time living again. 

Autumn with fairy hand marshals along 
All of her fairy band, mystical throng, 

Harvests are mellow, 

Golden and yellow, 
This is their song. 

Eruit trees are bending now low to the ground, 
Voices are blending, now happy the sound, 

Mellow the harvest, 

Yellow the harvest, 
Autumn is crowned. 

82 The University Magazine 

& ®too=folb Utctorp 


"Whew!" gasped Fairview, rubbing his swollen ankle. 
"How can I ever stick through the game ?" 

His exclamation was lost in the bustle and din that per- 
vaded the dressing room. Above the rattle of cleated 
shoes and the rustle of padded suits, or the occasional 
thump, thump of a bouncing pigskin, rose the tense voices 
of a score of men, exchanging earnest advice or attempted 
banter. Everyone was on edge. The big game of the 
season would be on in a few minutes. Vardon was con- 
fident in her strength and experience, but Bradlow, her 
long standing rival, had developed a powerful new team, 
and was making quite a record. 

Fairview groaned while he nursed his sprained mem- 
ber and thought of the responsibility that lay before him. 
As captain and highest authority of the team, due to the 
premature departure of the coach, he must bear the burden 
and responsibility of victory. Yet what praise and glory 
would be his should he win! How he wanted to win! 
It would be a fitting climax to his athletic record at Var- 
don, and how secure it would place him in the esteem of 
attractive Mary Ward, who, up to now, had received his 
advances with only a passive interest. A pang of fear 
and jealousy swept over him as he thought of her. What 
if Bill Wade, who was also lost in the charm of her per- 
sonality, should replace him as quarter-back ? Bill was 
fast and "ready," and might entirely eclipse him should he 
get into the game. This would certainly prove disastrous 
for his chances. 

"I must stick," Fairview resolved grimly. He arose 
and stepped gingerly upon the tightly bound ankle. A 
twinge of pain that was far from reassuring leaped 
through it. With pressed lips he walked back and forth 

The Univeesity Magazine 83 

until lie became inured to the agony. Above the throb 
that beat upon his confused brain recurred the determined 
thought: stick through the game! 

With a few words of caution and encouragement he led 
the team out upon the field. A storm of applause greeted 
his ears. The crisp yell of Vardon, flung from a thou- 
sand lusty throats, swept across the green, predominating 
all. Upon one side flaunted the defiant colors of Bradlow, 
a sea of gold and black; opposite the red and white of 
Vardon waved its loyalty and support. Fairview thrilled 
at what he beheld. Forgetting for the present his weak 
ankle, he ran the team through a brisk signal practice. 
The second team, with Wade as quarter, was also running 
signals vigorously. When the two teams neared each 
other the sharp, piercing voice of Wade, as he deftly hand- 
led the team, came to Fairview with a seeming note of 
defiance and mockery. The fantasy caused him 'to renew 
his decision to fight the game out himself. 

The breathless moment came when the teams were poised 
for the kick-off. A thud, and Fairview found himself 
racing down the field to intercept the return of the ball. 
He discovered that he was much slower that he had an- 
ticipated. After a few tackles his foot lost all power of 
plunging him forcefully ahead. He limped slightly each 
time that he met the charge through the line or around the 
end, the tardiness and lack of force in his tackle lost yards. 
When Vardon got the ball he found that he could not 
carry it with the accustomed speed that had formerly 
counted for gains. His interference was slow and ineffect- 
ual, many times allowing his backs to be cut down before 
making any progress. 

Slowly, but steadily, Vardon was driven back. Fair- 
view began to lose confidence in his ability to win, but 
with clenched teeth he put all energy into each charge, 
only to crumple up when he struck the foe. The whole 

84 The University Magazine 

team began to play raggedly, many little blunders creeping 
in. The inevitable resulted in a touchdown for Bradlow 
just before the end of the first half. As Fairview beheld 
the gold and black player kick field goal, the last sem- 
blance of hope left him. They would be defeated ! The 
realization of where the trouble lay cut him like a lash. 
But, anyway, he could stick through the game. Strangely 
this assurance brought him very little comfort. A vision 
of Wade, plunging freely through a line of scrubs, came 
back to him vividly. 

He tried to free his mind by flaying and exhorting the 
team as they waited for the second half. But he fancied 
that his voice did not have a sincere and convincing ring 
to it. The reeking, panting faces around him seemed to 
look up accusingly. He was relieved when the whistle 
blew for the second half. 

Again was the tragedy enacted. Bradlow's infuriated 
young bulls, wild with the taste of victory, crushed through 
the line with overwhelming force. Back, back was Vardon 
pushed to her thirty yard line. From the stands came an 
incessant loyal cry. It was now a beseeching "hold them ! 
hold them!" Fairview turned his haggard face that way. 
Every fan was upon his feet, vociferating encouragement. 
Something like a sob rose in his throat and stifled him. 
How they wanted to win ! And he was going to disap- 
point them ! What a bitter pill it would be to have their 
old rival score a second victory over them. Could he let 
them go away downcast just for the sake of his own 
interests ? 

He glanced toward the bench. Wade was stamping up 
and down the side lines, eagerly awaiting his opportunity. 
Back upon the sea of faces his eye roved. Somewhere up 
there two frank eyes were looking down upon him. What 
was she doing? Adding her bit to the mighty voice of 
encouragement, no doubt. 

The University Magazine 85 

His thoughts were broken off by the snap of the ball 
into action. Mechanically he rushed forward to stop the 
breach in the line. The faraway voice of the referee came 
to him as they extracted the squirming mass of arms and 

"Fourth down ; one yard to go." 

A little longer and victory would be irretrievable. 

"Time!" called Fairview, throwing up his hand. 
"Wade!" he shouted hoarsely. The willing quarter-back 
sprinted out to meet him. A roar of applause greeted his 

"Go in and hold them, Wade, hold them!" cried Fair- 
view, grasping him by the shoulder. 

"I'll try," gritted Wade, as he donned a helmet. 

Fairview limped despairingly to the side lines, sinking 
upon a bench. The echo of his name at the end of a brisk 
yell cheered him somewhat and he turned his attention to 
the critical situation upon the field. 

The eleven, with the snappy voice of Wade behind it, 
awoke to new life and once more became a coherent ma- 
chine. The next charge was met squarely and not an inch 
was lost. Bradlow not making first down, the ball went 
over to Vardon, Wade dropping back for a punt. But 
instead of punting he made a long, sweeping dash around 
left end. The fatigued opponents vainly endeavored to 
reach that speeding figure. It took Bradlow's last defense 
to stop him, and Wade arose grinning, on their twenty- 
yard line. 

Fairview found himself standing up, shouting his ec- 
stasy in concert with the stands behind him. 

The rest was only a matter of time. The eleven, now 
a perfect machine of war, catapulted its way through 
Bradlow's wavering defense and when the final whistle 
blew a safe margin had been secured by the team. 

As the throng swarmed through the gate Fairview 

86 The University Magazine 

heard a happy voice calling to him. He peered through 
the crowd and was surprised to see Mary Ward threading 
her way toward him. 

"Congratulations," she cried to him, extending her 
hand and looking admiringly up into his face. 

"For what/' stammered Fairview. 

"For your victory, of course," replied Mary. 

"But Wade was the one who — " 

"I know," interrupted Mary, with an insistent shake 
of her head, "but you were the one who let him win." 

She left the astonished captain, dazed but exalted, with 
the tenor of her words beating incessantly through his 
mind : "You are the one who won, you are the one — " 

The University Magazine 87 

Cfje hallmarks of 3Ctme 

(A True Story) 

The big iron gate swung open with a creaking, moaning 
sound and a cab drove in. Slowly it made its way up the 
winding driveway to the handsome but old-fashioned house 
in a once select district of London. 

The failing sunlight threw weird pictures on the ill- 
kept lawn and the turning leaves, stirred by a gentle 
breeze, softly rustled to the ground. Every window in 
the house was barred; but for the smoke curling from a 
chimney the place seemed utterly deserted. Long ago 
the place might have been well cared for but now there 
were signs of neglect and decay, for the shrubbery was 
overgrown, the trees were bent, and dying vines hung in 
wild disorder over the side of the house. 

An old man cautiously got out of the cab and approached 
the house. His shoulders were bent with age and he walked 
with a cane. His hair was almost white and the lines 
on his face were deeply drawn. The face was one of sor- 
row and disappointment. He hesitated before lifting the 
rusty knocker but finally let it fall with a grating sound 
which re-echoed through the empty hall. The door slowly 
opened on squeaking hinges and a startled little woman 
stood before the man. 

"Is Mrs. Kensway, the caretaker, here ?" asked the old 
man in a shaking voice. 

"No. She has been dead for fifteen years. I am her 

"I am Sir James Hendry, the owner of this place. 
Please lead me to the library." 

The fire burning bright seemed to be out of place in the 
dusty and forsaken room. It was as the sign of life in a 
tomb. The covers spread over the furniture were made 

88 The University Magazine 

more ghostly by the flickering of the blaze in the great 

The little woman stood trembling beside the old man 
who sat crumpled in a big leather chair before the fire. 

"Yes, I have taken care of the house since mother died. 
Like her I have carefully guarded her master's secret and 
you are the first to enter these doors since they were closed 
at the master's order forty-five years ago. Mother always 
made a fire here on the 27th of October. She said that 
that was to have been the day of the wedding. I had just 
finished building this fire when you knocked." 

"These have been awful years for me. I felt that I 
could never enter this house again. I have steadily fought 
against the will that drew me back here but today I yielded 
and in the home I so elaborately prepared for my bride 
I realize more clearly what might have been." From the 
depths of the leather chair which seemed to enfold his 
frail form, the old man soliloquized in low, indistinct 
tones, reflecting the deep melancholy on his face. 

After a pause, seeming to realize again the presence of 
the woman he said, "I trust my orders have been fully 

"Yes," answered the little, elderly woman. "Mother 
carefully followed instructions, and I have always done 
what she told me. Nothing has been altered. You will 
find the place just as it was on the marriage morning when 
the bride eloped with your brother." 

"O, God ! why did she leave me ? Why did she do it ?" 
sobbed the old man with his head bent on his hands folded 
on the top of his cane. 

"I want to go through the house," whispered he in a 
hoarse voice. Arising with difficulty he slowly followed 
the little woman. 

The doors of the dining hall were pushed opened and the 
old man saw before him a scene that staggered his brain 

The University Magazine 89 

with painful memories. There was the table set for the 
wedding dinner which had remained undisturbed through 
the years. The silver arranged at the places lay unmo- 
lested except for the tarnishing touch of Time. The glass- 
ware slightly colored was the same as when it had been 
put there by the butler forty-five years ago. The old man 
remembered the beauty and fragrance of the bridal bou- 
quet that adorned the center of the table, which was now 
but ashes around the hand-painted vase. The contrast be- 
tween this empty scene and the one that should have been 
was too much for the old man. Turning from the room he 
walked thoughtfully toward the library fire. 

With a wave of the hand the little woman was dis- 
missed and the old man, torn with grief and painful mem- 
ories, stood gazing at an oil painting of a beautiful woman 
hanging about the library mantel. After a long pause 
filled with thoughts that burned his very soul, control 
of himself began to weaken and he exclaimed, "Beth, 
this is the same but you yourself have changed. Here you 
are divinely beautiful, faithful and true, and although 
you thoughtlessly left me this has been my conception of 
you. I have always tried to think of you as you were that 
glad spring day when the portrait was finished. Through 
the vicissitudes of forty-five years that has stayed with me, 
my thoughts have ever gone back to that day. Yes, I 
am a man of the past." 

He stopped short and turned quickly around. 

"Good God, Beth, it is you." 

A figure dressed in black paused just inside the door. 
It was his Beth of long ago. She was tall and her air 
was one of graceful composure. Her hair slightly pen- 
cilled with gray added dignity to a face that had remark- 
ably retained its former beauty. 

The presence of his bride was the climax, and without a 
word he sank into the big leather chair. 

90 The University Magazine 

She was kneeling at his side, weeping penitently. Her 
head bowed on his knee, she exclaimed between sobs, "O, 
Jim, I've come back; I've come back. Pride has kept me 
away. I repent of my folly. I come to you now, to 

His eyes opened; with a death-like stare they gazed on 
the broken spirit at his feet. His lips moved. She heard 
him say, "It's too late, too late." 

He reached to touch her hair but his hand fell lifeless 
at his side. His head slowly sank upon his breast. 

The sun had set. It was dark. The last faint glimmer 
of the fire died away. It was cold. 

The University Magazine 91 

TOje g>tren Call 


There's a voice that keeps a-calling 

Through the watches of the night, 
When the stars look down like judgment 

And the moon is sober-bright ; 
And its melody comes rushing 

Through infinities of space, 
Like a mighty sweep of beauty 

On a virgin's callous face. 

I have felt its siren nagging 

At my bosom's naked core 
When the youth that now is drooping 

Was a blooming thing of yore; 
And I marveled at its magic, 

At its strange, hypnotic spell, 
As it rang like pulsing freedom 

Through my heart's unfettered cell. 

For it gripped my soul with madness, 

And I followed on its trail 
In the fever of adventure 

Past my reason's modest pale; 
And the hills with gold were crested 

And a shimmer lit each plain, 
As I winged the clovered stretches 

To the call's alluring strain. 

From the haze the wild notes dallied, 

And I fancied as I sped 
That a queen of star-strewn beauty 

Would be waiting there ahead ; 

92 The University Magazine 

And my blood was hot within me 

And it bore me swiftly on 
To the land of cypressed sorrow. 

To the death-eyed skeleton. 

On a throne of night she waited, 

Not the queen I dreamed to be, 
But a monster grim and ghastly 

With a look 'twas hell to see! 
And she blazed her eyes upon me 

As I panted from the race, 
And she cried, "My name's Ambition" — 

And she laughed me in the face. 

But the melody kept flowing 

From her arid, shrunken breast, 
Like an after borealis 

When the sun has gone to rest ; 
And it echoed through her being 

And across the trail of blue, 
To entrap another spirit 

On its quest of ruin, too. 

Yet the voice keeps calling, calling, 

Through the watches of the night, 
Though the stars have passed their judgment 

And my youth has spent its flight ; 
'Til I fancy that tomorrow 

Will beget another race, 
With an utter transformation 

In the siren's mocking face. 

The University Magazine 93 

®fje passing of tije "3&aJ) &atf JSop 


Those of the present college age who are not too ever- 
lastingly occupied with the pursuit of their own material 
gain or pleasure have realized, with a sense of thankful- 
ness, that the particular element of the student body com- 
monly designated by that expressive caption, "rah rah 
boy," is gradually becoming extinct. The peculiar import- 
ant role this type has played in college life, both real and 
imaginary, deserves that some attention should be paid to 
its passing. All caricaturists of comic weeklies will kind- 
ly take note. 

The origin of the rah rah boy is shrouded in mystery. 
Perhaps it was simultaneous with the birth of the modern 
college and university, while still more probable is the 
supposition that this particular type has always existed. 
It is not at all hard to imagine the students of ancient 
Athens being unfortunately possessed of a certain small 
but noisy element common to our own colleges. Undoubt- 
edly they would have worn the most extreme togas or 
tunics to be had. At all public games they would have 
appeared noticeably boisterous and vociferous. Still, 
without more authentic bibliography, it would be mani- 
festly unjust to attribute the origin of this type of stu- 
dent to the beloved ancients. And on the other hand, 
when we view the high degree of development acquired by 
the rah rah boy in the early part of this century, it would 
be almost impossible to believe that this evolution could 
have occurred without at least several centuries of "nat- 
ural selection" culminating in the "survival of the fittest." 

But enough for this hypothesis. The specific origin, de- 
velopment, supremacy, and passing of the rah rah type of 
student may be amply treated from data of our own cam- 
pus, without the aid of extraneous material. For certain 

94 The University Magazine 

it is that Carolina has not been free from this infection. 
Due to geographic location, to the type of people furnish- 
ing its students, and to a certain indefinable atmosphere 
of refinement prevalent over the campus, Carolina has been 
fortunately blessed by a comparatively small element of 
this bizarre type. But there are unmistakable evidences 
in this day of the supposedly cultured and refined college 
gentleman that our past has not always been as fortunate 
as our present age. Among these evidences may be men- 
tioned certain traditions, direct printed information, and 
most important of all, a few unseasonable off-springs of an 
earlier age that still remain with us. For, optimistic as 
we may be, it is scarcely accurate to state that the rah rah 
boy has entirely vanished. A cursory glance over our 
campus would belie this. But the point is that the rah rah 
boy is passing, undoubtedly and of course, fortunately. 

As the name implies, the rah rah boy derived his de- 
scriptive title from a too enthusiastic and noticeably vo- 
ciferous support of his college and all her activities. How- 
ever, this limited sphere of the rah rah boy did not long 
exist. From a too ardent supporter of athletics he grad- 
ually evolved into a too ardent supporter of every element 
of a superficial nature that was connected with his col- 
lege life. He was the unhealthy extreme of every class. 
In his Freshman year he was the freshest of the fresh, in 
his Sophomore the fiercest of the brave, in his Junior year 
the most conceited and ignorant of the sophisticated, and 
finally, if he ever reached his Senior year, he was the most 
comically grave and abnormally dignified of that class. 
Whether he retained these quixotic traits in after life is 
problematical. We are only concerned with his career dur- 
ing his meteoric passage through college. 

Tradition, the first and most unauthentic evidence we 
have of the reign of the rah rah boy, depicts him to us in 
a strikingly unpleasant role. The most nashingly dressed, 

The University Magazine 95 

rabidly patriotic, and audibly conspicuous of young men 
was immediately classed as a college boy. His deeds at 
college bad been bold and daring, his vocabulary was 
breezy and tinged with collegiate expressions, and on the 
whole his was a very undesirable personality. When this 
type of student went out into the state as representative of 
the calibre of man that the University produced, poor opin- 
ion of his Alma Mater would ensue. But right here one 
thing can be said in deference to the rah rah boy. His 
growth and development in a large measure were due to 
an unhealthy state of government on the part of the Uni- 
versity. This type of student, therefore, may be regarded 
as the legitimate off-spring of an unhealthy University at- 
mosphere. As this condition was gradually remedied, so 
in equal measure the college student improved in character 
and conduct. 

It is very interesting to note the atmosphere that sur- 
rounded the American college in the latter part of the 19th 
century, and even in the early years of the present one. 
This atmosphere, so to speak, was even imbued in the se- 
date members of the faculty. A 1902 college newspaper 
contains the information that in the Indiana-Illinois foot- 
ball game, the presidents of the two rival institutions led 
the cheering. This seems strikingly out of place with our 
own faculty. 

The passing of the rah rah boy is almost analogous with 
the passing of hazing. This institution seems to have been 
primarily a private diversion for this particular type of 
student. Every active side of his nature seemed to find a 
natural outlet in this special form of college activity. As 
hazing developed, the rah rah boy developed hand in hand 
with it. From all newspaper accounts hazing flourished 
without much concentrated opposition on the part of the 
students until 1900. But at this point there was begin- 
ning to grow an active sentiment against this primitive 

96 The University Magazine 

custom. Tar Heel clippings give interesting bits of side- 
light on the matter. The issue of October 30, 1901, says: 
"The Freshmen held their election yesterday and again 
great havoc was wrought in one of our buildings. Such 
wholesale destruction of property should be prevented. If 
necessary the Freshmen should meet in the woods, as it 
seems impossible for the 'lambs and lions' to lie down to- 
gether." It is unnecessary to add that the above-men- 
tioned "lion" was undoubtedly our rah rah boy in dis- 
guise. From this date the supremacy of this genus begins 
to decline. Evidences of this statement are found in the 
growing unpopularity of hazing among the saner majority 
of the students. On September 26, 1901, a committee 
from the three upper classes met and adopted resolutions 
condemning hazing in unequivocal terms. The resolution 
was composed of 12 sub-heads. In short, as the Tar Heel 
aptly expressed it, hazing is falling into disrepute. It is 
characterized as the "doing of little Sophomores, in whom 
it is as unbecoming as cigarette smoking in the very 
young." At the same time other institutions are making 
still bigger progress. As early as 1902 the State Legis- 
lature of Illinois made hazing a criminal offense and all 
offenders liable to a fine of $590.00 and a jail term of 6 
months. But the progress in North Carolina was not quite 
so rapid. Wall painting, pistol shooting, and bell ringing 
was heartily condemned in a newspaper editorial in the 
fall of 1902. Minor denunciations of this type were the 
rule until the Rand tragedy in 1912. In one climactic 
incident, the tragedy and futility of such a custom was 
clearly demonstrated. The faculty took drastic meas- 
ures, the State condemned the University for the action 
of a few thoughtless students, and the career of the rah rah 
boy received its first and fatal blow. The State Assembly 
took action in March, 1913, and hazing was definitely and 
finally abolished. So passed the most characteristic and 

The University Magazine 97 

likewise the most harmful organ of the rah rah boy. Later 
developments have shown that the loss of this organ was 

The next step in the evolution of the modern college 
student was the installation of self-government. This one 
innovation had more than any other one thing to do with 
the development of a higher type of student. When we 
look at the narrow hampering restrictions that bound the 
student of 1850, we cannot help but excuse some of his 
actions. Some of the faculty regulations that were so 
rigidly enforced read as follows : "All profane and in- 
decent language shall be utterly excluded from the Uni- 
versity." "A student shall not engage in a game of haz- 
ard, nor shall he make any bet." Other laws followed at 
length. In fact every action of the poor student was 
criticized and legislated against. It is no wonder that 
under such repressive legislation as this the type of stu- 
dent should not be narrow, hampered and unpleasant. 
Under such circumstances the rah rah boy arose and 
gradually reached his zenith. Then student self-govern- 
ment was inaugurated. With this there began to arise 
in the minds of the students a great consciousness, 
both of themselves and of the duty they owed to their 
college. As participation in law-making breeds interest 
in the laws, so from this time on the students became 
more interested in their own behaviour and, in fact, their 
own welfare. The "esprit de corps" among the student 
body almost simultaneously changed from that ignominious 
element of noisy collegiates, to a saner, more reliable ele- 
ment. The change, as was later proven, was not ephem- 
eral but lasting. This was the second landmark in the 
passing of the rah rah boy, but unlike the hazing restric- 
tion, this change was caused by constructive legislation — 
an internal change and progress on the part of the student 

98 The University Magazine 

From this period of transition we reach the campus 
and the student of our own time. Let it suffice to say that 
the passage of the undesirable student is not complete — 
in fact it may never be complete. Some have even begun 
to look upon him as a sort of "necessary evil." But be his 
future what it may, we can at least boast that we have 
made a distinct advance over our predecessors, and for this 
advance, we are at least to be commended. No longer do 
we have the "The Ancient and Only Amalgamated Order 
of Red Heads" — Motto, "Let your light shine forth." 
This organization of 1902 may possibly be attributed to 
an unusual amount of eccentricity of the year. But the 
point is that such freak occurrences would be entirely 
foreign to the tone of the campus of today. We have pro- 
gressed beyond that stage. 

Fifty years have brought us to the conclusion that the 
college is a finishing school of educated gentlemen and 
not a breeding place for mountebanks. Further, the stu- 
dents realize that their conduct and their achievements 
fix the reputation of their college. They have learned to 
distinguish college spirit from maudlin enthusiasm, and 
most important of all, they have reached a sounder realiza- 
tion of their own responsibility. These mental revolu- 
tions, coupled with the more material advances in. the re- 
striction of hazing and in the inauguration of student 
self-government, create an atmosphere in which the rah 
rah boy is distinctly out of place. His passing for good 
and ever should be regarded as the goal to which our pres- 
ent college age should strive. The sooner we can con- 
scientiously erect a tomb-stone to his memory and refer 
to him as a relic of our past follies, the sooner will we have 
attained that higher seriousness which should characterize 
the real university man. 

The University Magazine 99 

Curopean ®3Homen after tfje Wax 


The present European War has wrought many changes 
since its beginning, both social and economic, and notable 
among these changes is the new position gained by women 
in the countries at war, and as a direct consequence of this 
war. At the outbreak of the conflict the women of the 
nations engaged, and especially in England, experienced a 
sudden and acute period of unemployment, this period be- 
ing followed, however, within a few months by a greater 
demand than ever for woman labor. Before the war wo- 
men were mostly employed in factories which made lux- 
uries. It is natural that these factories ceased operations 
to a great extent as the struggle became fiercer, thus throw- 
ing a lot of women out of employment. But, in the mu- 
nition factories, at the clerical posts, and in many other 
forms of occupation women have within the past two 
years demonstrated an unsuspected capacity to perform 
many lines of work heretofore thought of as men's work. 
They have proved their worth to the country as never be- 
fore, and their efforts have contributed largely to the prose- 
cution of the war in both England and Germany. Every 
trade and profession shows an increase in the number of 
women employed. Not only in industrial, but in profes- 
sional and commercial occupations, in government em- 
ployment, and in the metal, leather, and engineering trades 
they have shown wonderful ability. The munition fac- 
tories have probably experienced a greater influx of wo- 
men employees than any other single industry. It is no 
strange thing to find women engaged as glass and electric 
workers, train conductors, lamp-lighters, and road work- 
ers. A certain tannery in Lancashire gave employment 
to 200 people before the war, only three of them being 

100 The University Magazine 

women. Now they ;are employing seventy women and 
intend taking in more. 

It is simply a case of substitution, and women have 
demonstrated their ability to cope with the situation and 
to adapt themselves to new and unforeseen conditions. 
They have gone to work with a determination to do their 
part since they cannot be on the firing line. It seems that 
some are making the sacrifice from a patriotic point of 
view; other from an economic standpoint. 

As a result of this movement it is roughly estimated 
that the increase in the number of employed women in 
England since the war began, excluding domestic service, 
is over one-half million, and in most cases they have re- 
ceived a considerable raise in wages. 

It is only logical that this woman movement, be it so- 
called, has caused considerable unrest in the industrial 
world. Their entry into trades previously closed to them 
raises a question of the utmost social and economic im- 
portance, not only to themselves, but to the men they have 
replaced. It puts them on a competitive basis with men, 
but of course they can't compete with men in strength. 
So, it seems that their salvation lies rather in head work 
and skill than in the heavy labor of muscle and sinew. 
Factory employers have already encouraged women, to 
some extent, by simplifying and making lighter the ma- 
chinery used. As a further appeal they are requiring some 
women to work only half a day, especially married women 
who have home duties to perform. The general health 
conditions of the factories where women are being em- 
ployed are also being greatly improved, mostly through 
the efforts of welfare societies. 

Thus men have been replaced by women in almost every 
occupation, and the question naturally arises as to what 
position women will hold after the war. Some close ob- 
servers of the situation declare that women will try to 

The University Magazine 101 

retain the footing they have gained ; others think that they 
will be only too glad to quit work and resume their domes- 
tic duties. 

There are several factors which will tend to promote or 
restrict the industrial employment of women after the war. 
It seems only reasonable that there will be a great need for 
increased production to restore the warring countries to 
normal conditions. Owing to the terrible depletion of 
young men by the war, prospects of marriage will be some- 
what diminished, the result being a greater need for the 
women to earn their living. Then, too, some women will 
desire to retain the footing they have gained, and they 
will doubtless be encouraged by industrial employers, the 
result being increased competition with men. 

It is quite probable that the reduction of capital will 
cause a restriction of employment. Most of the munition 
factories now employing great numbers of women will dis- 
continue operations after the war, thus throwing a lot of 
women out of employment. And last, but not least of the 
factors tending to restrict the employment of women, will 
be the increased solicitude for children of the coming gen- 
eration who are to fill the ranks of those lost on the battle- 
field. There will probably be more care given to the new 
born child than ever before. 

It is a fact that women tend to dilute labor, and this di- 
lution of labor will likely cause much anxiety. This is bad 
for the industries, because the need for skilled crafts- 
manship will be great and imperative and cannot be ig- 
nored. The qualitative production will be needed. 

But suppose women quit work after the war and return 
to the duties of domestic life. In this case they form a 
reserve of labor which can be drawn upon in time of emer- 

Thus, we can only speculate as to the position of women 

102 The Univeksity Magazine 

after the present struggle, but it seems quite certain that 
they will play an important part in the industrial life of 
the nations involved and at the same time gain a footing 
which they will probably hold. 

$relube to "Xoljengrm" 

E. b. 

Ah, too sweet music of that other sphere, 
Why spirit-like persist in haunting me? 
How little did I think to find you here ! 
You spoke to me of joy before my birth, 
But now you tell what was and still might be, 
You sing the dirge of all I held most dear. 
Was it for that you followed me to earth ? 
Ah ! no, some day you'll give the golden key 
That opes to light and love from doubt and fear. 
Then I, with you, shall soar forever free. 

The University Magazine 103 



In the galaxy of the world's natural wonders our coun- 
try is admirably represented. Of these is Luray Cavern 
in Virginia, one of nature's most beautiful and most inter- 
esting creations. Although it lies very near to us, it is 
little appreciated and a comparatively few have taken ad- 
vantage of its proximity. A visit to the cavern is an ex- 
perience in my life that I will hold in memory for en- 
joyable retrospection. 

Motoring down the old historic Valley Pike through a 
region once befogged with the smoke of our civil conflict, 
but now dominated by the peacefulness of nature yielding 
an abundance for the needs of man, we arrived in New 
Market, a typical little Virginia village. In a downfall 
of rain that we thought was only a passing shower, we 
started to Luray. The cavern is fourteen miles from New 
Market, and the narrow roadway leads in a sudden curving 
and precipitous manner directly over the summit of Mas- 
sanutten Mountain, and then seems to rush headlong down 
the opposite side, winding and twisting as if dodging each 
obstacle that might oppose it. As the car labored up the 
mountain, the rain increased and great streams of water 
rushed over the narrow road. Since it would have been 
indeed difficult to turn back and descend, we were forced 
to continue the upward climb. Without chains on the 
wheels, the automobile could only creep at a snail's pace 
and more than once skidded perilously near the road's 
edge, from which a descent of hundreds of feet suddenly 
began. When we gained the top our efforts were reversed, 
for then instead of fighting to gain ground, the struggle 
was to hold to that which was under us. Sliding and skid- 

104 The University Magazine 

ding in the driving rain and speculating on inches, we 
safely reached the foot of Massanutten and Luray. 

To describe the wonderful magnificence of the cavern as 
it first bursts upon one after descending, would be a task 
for a Shelley or a Keats. Entering the great vestibule, 
the first emotion is one of mute wonder. One feels unable 
to perceive such majestic grandeur that is so suddenly and 
forcefully revealed. It takes a short while to gradually 
become accustomed to the weird influence of this subter- 
ranean realm. Water percolating from the surface through 
a layer of Silurian limestone, forms a massive collection of 
carbonate crystals from the roof, the stalactites. By the 
same process pillar like columns and grotesque figures 
climb up from the floor, the stalagmites. These forma- 
tions, some towering from a base and others hanging from 
above, each resting in an atmosphere of solemn and ma- 
jestic stillness, as if realizing their marvelous beauty and 
commanding the respect of all, present an awe inspiring 
spectacle that increases in beauty and fantasy as one more 
closely observes it. The cavern is well lighted by elec- 
tricity and all hues conceivable blend together in the 
formations in artistic combinations, being drawn out by 
the artificial light. Not only is the coloring of the cavern 
admirable, but the shapes that the different formations 
have taken after thousands of years of slow, steady growth 
are wonderful. 

A small sketch of the cave resembles the web of a spider. 
From the massive vestibule in the center radiate other gro- 
tesque chambers. These apartments and figures within 
them have been named for some distinguished personage 
or something to which they bear a striking resemblance. 
The " Cathedral" in many ways wonderfully suggests that 
for which it has been named. At its end is the organ, 
formed by stalactities hanging in almost perfect sym- 
metry. Each pipe is so formed by nature that a tune of 

The University Magazine 105 

clear notes can be produced by striking them. Another 
of the formations that I most vividly remember is that of a 
bordered drapery suspended from the ceiling in graceful 
folds. A light from behind shone through, showing the 
pale pink tint of the figure and the deeper pink of the 
perfectly formed border. Near this stands in almost 
sacred naturalness, the figure of Christ blessing little chil- 
dren. The similarity is indeed startlingly apparent. The 
Master is surrounded by several little children and his 
hand rests upon the head of one. His face is a lighter 
color than his robe and the beard is clearly formed. Each 
child has a shawl about its head. Of the more massive 
figures are the "cascades," wonderful formations like 
frothy cataracts caught in their rushing flight and changed 
into milk white or rich alabaster. At the foot of one is a 
silvery pool of pelucid liquid reflecting upon its crystal 
surface the colors above with most beautiful effect. 

The difficulty of describing the indescribable is realized 
and even more impossible is it to present by words the im- 
pressions that the wonders of the cavern leave upon the 
mind of the observer. New sensations, ideas, and emo- 
tions rush upon one that cannot be expressed by the best 
diction. The atmosphere is such as to suggest fairy realms 
and supernatural existence, as, 

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 

A stately pleasure-domb decree, 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man, 
Down to a sunless sea." 

— Kobert F. Phillips. 


"Sam, where did you get those fish?" asked the new- 
comer to the small country village, as he approached a 
darky, who was carrying a fine string of fish. 

106 The University Magazine 

"Over to Mars Jones', sar. Pretty good uns, ain't 
they ?" 

"Yes, they are. Weigh about a pound apiece, Sam?" 

"Yes, sar, jes' 'bout." 

"Sam, I want to go fishing soon. Where did you get 
your bait ? Over in the meadows, I suppose ?" 

"No, sar. I dug 'em." At this point the darky grinned 

"Yes, yes, of course you dug them, but where ?" 

"Where," asked the negro innocently. "Oh, out pas' 
ole man Paul's, sar." 

"In his garden ?" 

"No, sar. In the ground, sar." 

"Come on, Sam, and quit your foolishness. Tell me 
where you dug them." 

"Dug 'em ?" asked the darky. "I dug 'em in a hole, sar, 
in the ground, sar." 

"Oh, Sam, of course you did, but what kind of a whole ?" 

"One I was adigging, sar, a deep one, sar." 

"Why were you digging a deep hole for worms, Sam?" 

"Some folks aksted me to, sar." 

"Who ?" 

"Mars Temple's nigger, sar." 

"What far ?" 

"'Case Mrs. Temple wanted it done; yes, sar. She 
gave me two dollars, sar." 

"What did she want it for, Sam ?" 

"For Mars Temple, sar ; he's dade." 

"So you got your worms by digging a grave, did you ? 
Well ! Well ! Well ! I never heard of such a thing before." 
Here the newcomer's frame was shaken by an outburst of 
uproarious, laughter. Finally, he sobered down and began 
to question the darky anew: 

"Was Mr. Temple an old man, Sam ?" 

"Yas, sar, he were pretty ole." 

The University Magazine 107 

"What caused his death ?" 

"Don' know, sar; he jes' died." 

"You mean of old age ?" 

"Yas, sar ; of ole age." 

"When did this happen, Sam ?" 

"Well, 'bout 'free days ago, sar." 

"Sam, do people around here die very often V 

"No, sar, can't say they do." 

"Come, Sam ; how often V 

"Oh, 'bout onc't, sar." 

— G. B. Lay. 


The only mule that was ever really imprisoned for life 
was a very precocious colt belonging to a blockader in the 
western part of this state. This animal had been trained 
to act as a go-between in the liquor traffic, and in that 
capacity for a long time completely baffled the revenue 
officers who were trailing his master. The men who 
traded with the blockader and seemed unable to be happy 
unless they had a pint of mountain dew in their pockets 
and a jug handily concealed, used this mule with great fre- 
quency and excellent results. All a thirsty man had to do 
was to go to a certain spot in the valley grazing grounds, 
clear his throat lustily, and the mule would amble up. 
Then the gentlemen would languidly tie a jug around the 
critter's neck and stretch out on the grass and wait. The 
mule always brought the jug back full. How he did it 
none ever found out, but when his master was finally 
caught and imprisoned for a short term, the mule was 
also sent to the State penitentiary, where he now resides 
and toils for his board and keep. Further, there does not 
seem to be much chance of the governor exerting much 
influence in his behalf. 

— Clarvoe. 

108 The University Magazine 

GCo tfje ©afcite poplar 

E. B. Covington, U. K C. Magazine, 1844 

Auld Tree ! ye liaud your head f u' high, 
Your spirlie 1 spauls 2 athart 3 the sky ; 
Ye gar all ithers stand abeigh, 4 

Abuve them al' : 
I rede 5 ye, tho' ye getch 6 sae sheigh, 7 

Ye soon may fa'. 

Ye ken ye stand on classic groun' 
And reek na win, nor rain, nor sun ; 
For weel ye trow 8 our love you've won, 

Auld totterin' f rien' ! 
But now I grieve your course is run, 

Ower late to men'. 

Ye mind ye weel in bye-gone days, 
How Trustee fathers — carls 9 o' grace, 
When toddin' on to choose a place 

For Learning's seat, 
Unco 10 forjesket 11 — take their case 

E'en at your feet. 

How they beguiled the lee-lang day, 
(An' auld Eip, too, I weel might say) 
Wi clishmaclaver, 12 crouse 16 an free 

In druchen gate, 13 
Ov croonin' o'er some antient glee 

Till gloamin' late. 14 

The University Magazine 109 

But time has passed — an' they are gane, 

An' ye, auld frien', are left alane 

To speak their fauts — which give no pain; 

For know the trowth, 
That runkled eild 15 may have its fun, 

As weel as youth. 

A douce 17 auld Tree, ye lang hae stood; 
But Time, wha recks na ill nor good, 
With blastin' tooth has sapped your blude 

An' left his mark. 
I'd fain uphold ye an 18 I could 

Auld Patriarch. 

1, Spreading ; 2, branches ; 3, across ; 4, by ; 5, warn ; 6-7, toss the 
head haughtily ; 8, know ; 9, old men ; 10-11, uncommonly wearied ; 12, 
foolish talk, "bull" ; 13, drunk ; 14, twilight ; 15, wrinkled old age ; 16, 
blithe ; 1 7, sedate ; 1 8, if. In the third stanza the poet refers to the 
old tradition that Davie and his companions used the shade of the poplar 
as a convenient place for a carousal. Dr. Battle thinks the tradition 
unjust. — J. E. Harris. 

110 The University Magazine 

groutrt tije OTeil 




"Where do you keep all of these young men?" asked a 
visitor as he watched the crowd come out of chapel one 
morning. His finger was on the sore spot. When told 
that the University dormitories could accommodate only 
five hundred and twelve students, and that the total en- 
rollment was over eleven hundred, he was greatly as- 

His next question — "Why do you not get another dorm- 
itory?" — was still more embarrassing. This question is 
one of such vital importance that it must necessarily be 
considered in the near future. It is true that the state is 
giving $115,000 for the maintenance of the University, 
but the salaries alone amount to $146,500. It may be 
that the state would have to go in debt to build accommo- 
dations for more students, but it seems that the state's 
future would demand that conditions be bettered. 

Many are unable to room out in town from purely finan- 
cial reasons. Many years ago the taxpayer thought that a 
university training was a thing only for the sons of the 
rich. This being the case he was unwilling to be assessed 
to pay to take care of them. "Now he must recognize that 
conditions have changed. There are over four hundred 
men who either work at least a part of their way through 
college or borrow money from the University in order to 
graduate. A great many not included in this number 
agree to teach for two years after graduating in order to 
pay for their tuition. This indicates that the so-called 
education for the aristocrats only is a thing of the past. 

However, the chief trouble is not that the state is en- 

The University Magazine 111 

tirely unable to provide adequate accommodations, but that 
the legislature and its constitutents do not know the actual 
conditions. With all due apologies, few of the state leg- 
islators really know the actual conditions. It is true that 
every two years a committee from the legislature visits 
the University. But in their short visit they do not 
learn the actual conditions. They usually assemble at the 
Alumni Building immediately upon arriving on the Hill, 
are shown the "yawning chasm" in the northern end of 
the Old East, drink from the "Old Well," go to chapel and 
tell stale jokes about how Bill Jones Smith blacked them 
when they were freshmen here, eat a "good old dinner" at 
"Swine," and then rush back to Raleigh. Why not keep 
them in the dormitories a night ? Do not understand me 
to say sleep. Let them dress in the cold, wash in a cracked 
bowl, stick splinters in their bare feet, bunk in a double 
decker, and suffer the other advantages of dormitory life. 
Once the legislature really knows the facts and sees the 
crowded conditions, we will have a new dormitory. 

— Victor Bryant, Jr. 


In consideration of the idea most excellently put forth 
by an editorial in the Tar Heel, why shouldn't our Uni- 
versity Day be improved and enlarged in its scope ? Why 
shouldn't it be made a day of joyful celebration instead of 
the one of mere formality which it has been for so many 
years? We ought to take advantage of the opportunity to 
make this day one of the biggest, if not the biggest, in our 
calendar, and this could be effected in no better way than 
by the plan for its enlargement as projected by the editor 
of the Tar Heel. A dance on the night before the holiday 
for the whole college and alumni would begin festivities 
in a fitting manner, adding the social side to the celebra- 
tion and putting the holiday spirit into the bones of every- 

112 The University Magazine 

one. The morning would be set aside for the formal cele- 
bration as heretofore. A good football game in the after- 
noon would conclude the celebration in a way pleasing to 
all. It would add the athletic side of our life to the day, 
and serve as an incentive for the return of many alumni 
who would probably not feel it worth while for them to 
make the trip here without a chance of seeing a good foot- 
ball game. 

Many alumni organizations have already announced 
their intentions of being present on University Day in the 
future. This is a thing which we would certainly like to 
see on a large scale — the return of alumni on the birthday 
of their Alma Mater — ; so, why shouldn't we offer further 
incentive for their return on this day by so enlarging the 
annual celebration as to include the three phases of college 
life — the academic, social, and athletic % 

— Albert Oettinger. 


For the first time in the history of the University, the 
Seniors have inaugurated the beginning of what might be 
a movement to separate the various classes into separate 
dormitories. No green Freshman now occupies a suite of 
rooms in the Battle-Vance dormitory nor do any of the 
other two classes trample upon the stronghold of the class 
of 1916. 

But seriously, why should this idea not be taken up 
by the other classes also ? At Yale each class is separated 
from the others, and this separation of classes is prevalent 
at other colleges also. 

I should think that the lack of unity in the different 
classes would be reduced to the minimum by this method, 
for each entering Freshman class would become a unit at 
the start of its collegiate career and this spirit of co-opera- 
tion would stand the class in good stead throughout its 

The University Magazine 113 

whole four years of campus existence. With men of vari- 
ous classes scattered over the campus and town, there is 
no way for each member of a particular class to learn to 
know well all his classmates. It is true that he meets 
many other men from other classes and makes many 
friends in this way, but, is it not most worth while to 
know well the members of his own class, the class with 
which he will graduate, if he has good luck or works hard 
and consistently, and hence the men with whom he is to be 
most largely thrown during his senior year? On account 
of lack of dormitory space, all four classes could not be 
separated. Therefore, it is necessary to choose the two 
classes which would derive the most from this system. 
As at present, the Seniors should room together. How- 
ever, the matter of picking the other privileged class is 
more difficult. It seems to me that the Freshman class de- 
serves, not on account of merit but for their own good, 
to be taken as second choice. Although the Freshman 
class is as fresh as fresh-cut green grass and needs the use 
of the contents of the salt-cellar continually, it would work 
out its own salvation alone, if let alone by the other classes, 
just as well as it does now. The Freshmen at Yale and 
Harvard are separated, as are the other classes also at 
Yale, and yet, they seem to get along quite smoothly, ex- 
cept when the Sophs "start something." The Freshman 
class as a class would at its beginning become more of a 
harmonious unit, while the Seniors, as at present, would 
be reunited for their last year. This plan, necessarily, has 
to be hard on the Sophs and Juniors, but no plan can 
please everybody or every class. 

— Georgp: Baech Lay. 


A recent issue of the Tar Heel said : " ' . . . go- 
ing on class every day is the most tiresome thing in the 

114 The University Magazine 

world' . . . Usually the class drifts into the room, 
drops into the seats and arranges its feet. . . . It is 
usually looking at its watch and calculating the number of 
minutes that must elapse until the next bell rings." Oft- 
times the situation is any other than this. Classes do meet 
when every individual member is extremely interested in 
the work and keenly alert on the job. But the case is too 
often as described, and it is true that the influences which 
cause this kind of spirit to exist are very numerous and 
widely varied. 

It is quite evident that of the five morning periods, there 
is, as a rule, less interest taken in the class work and more 
attention given to the watches during the twelve-thirty 
period. This is due to at least two reasons. In the first 
place, both students and instructors have doubtless become 
jaded, and they relax in the thoughts of being on the last 
class for the day. Secondly, the twelve-thirty period lasts 
up to the very minute that the doors of the boarding houses 
open for dinner. This fact, without doubt, diverts the 
attention of many a student. It is an extremely difficult 
task to concentrate on a Math, problem, or to listen to the 
expounding of a philosophical truth when the thoughts 
of dinner are first to be repressed. Every student knows 
what it means to be late at dinner. Experience has al- 
ready taught that if there is any chicken left after leaving 
class with the ringing of the bell, or probably later, and 
walking to the boarding house, it will be a wing or giz- 
zard. Loaf bread will be substituted for biscuit, and in 
further manifestation of what there was, there will be sev- 
eral empty dishes and greasy spoons and ladles. If more 
than five minutes late, the old reliable dish of fruit or 
pitcher of syrup will have to be depended upon. Yet the 
hope remains that no one has been too hasty in appropriat- 
ing the extra deserts. 

From eight-thirty to one-thirty there are five class per- 

The University Magazine 115 

iods, and each one of them is fifty-five minutes long, except 
one. This is the twelve-thirty period, which is sixty min- 
utes long. If any period should be less than an hour, it 
should be the twelve-thirty period. Five minutes would 
give sufficient time to get to dinner, and would probably 
afford time to stop at the postoffice. 

If the twelve-thirty periods were shortened just five 
minutes, a great inconvenience would be overcome, more 
patience would exist on class, more interest would be taken 
in the work, and higher attainments and a greater feeling 
of satisfaction would be the result. 

— S. W. 

116 The University Magazine 



The Exchange department in university magazines is 
the place for a frank discussion of magazine qualities. If 
conducted properly, it enables us to see our own magazine 
as others see it. And insofar as it succeeds in doing this 
it justifies the space given to it. If the Exchange editors 
will make an effort, thru constructive criticism, to effect 
this end, they will succeed in raising the general standard 
of college magazines. And this should be our constant aim. 
It is with the hope of uniting with others to accomplish 
this work that we extend a hearty welcome to the magazines 
on our exchange list. 

Despite the unusual difficulties of getting out the 
first issue of the magazine in the college year the Uni- 
versity of Virginia presents a splendid number. The story 
with the inviting title, "No Man's Land," reveals very 
clearly the faithfulness of the ante-bellum negro to his mas- 
ter. "Plattsburg Training Camp — An Interpretation" is 
the title of one of the most interesting and best written 
articles in the magazine. It gives an intimate view of life 
in a military training camp. I have talked with several 
men who were at Plattsburg last summer, and all of them 
seem to share this writer's faith in the far-reaching influ- 
ence of the plan. The primary purpose of the Military 
Camp is, of course, to train citizens to arms. But its 
secondary results are no less direct and significant. Some- 
thing is bound to happen when six thousand men from all 
parts of the country come together. As the writer says, 
"they make new friends, meet new conditions, and come 
in touch with new standards." And as a necessary result 
"a comradeship grows which wears off all provincialisms." 
It gives a man more of the American viewpoint, and makes 
him more unselfish in his citizenship. 

The University Magazine 117 

The Virginia Magazine, with all its good qualities, is 
lacking in two particulars which are essential in a well 
rounded college magazine: a sketch department, and a 
forum for constructive suggestions regarding campus life. 
There are many of these which do not fit smoothly into a 
college weekly, but which would be interesting, and would 
contribute greatly to the vitality of any college magazine. 

What the editor of the State Normal Magazine chooses 
to call "Piquancy of our Juniors" recommends itself 
by the change it has brought about in the Magazine cover. 
The many poetical quotations lend a somewhat scrappy 
appearance to the finished product. The article on like- 
nesses is decidedly the most interesting and attractive in 
the lot. The eagle eye, the saucy smile, and the compro- 
mise between the two, are strikingly portrayed and make 
a wonderful first paragraph. The second paragraph rep- 
resents good business judgment, and ability to practice it, 
while the third pictures a Blythe vision, a Rose dream, and 
a matter of fact. 

We are glad to acknowledge the receipt of the David- 
sonian, Wake Forest Student, St. Mary's Muse, Meredith 
Acorn, Trinity Archive, Bed and White of A. and M., 
H amp den-Sydney Magazine, University of Texas Maga- 
zine, Carolinian, Wofford College Journal, The Redwood, 
Santa Clara University, Georgetown College Journal, and 
many others. 

The North Carolina College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts 

Young men seeking an education which will equip them for practical 
life in Agriculture, and all its allied tranches; in Civil, Electrical, and 
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University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 

No. 3 

New Series Vol. 34 



Editorial Comment 121 

The Picture Gladys Avery 126 

Loving Vivian A. M. Lindau 129 

Some Reminiscences of Service in Confederate 

Army R. H. Ricks 136 

To Whom It May Concern A. M. Lindau 142 

The Triangle S. F. Telfair 143 

Who I Am A. Freshman 148 

The Gleam A. M. Coates 153 

Little Brooklet C. G. Tennent 156 

Sketches 157 

Around the Well 163 

Should One Be Allowed to Sever His Connection 

With the Societies at Will? R. F. Moseley 168 

Exchanges 177 



University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Editor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. STEELE, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau 
Frank Clarvoe 

Albert Oettinger 
A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 
William York* Dialectic 

The University of North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

JANUARY, 1917 
Old Series Vol. 47 No. 3 New Series Vol. 34 

Cbttortal Comment 


What is the sensible thing to do at the beginning of a 
New Year ? We might go ahead with our same old course 
and do nothing; or we might make a lot of New Year's 
resolutions to break the next day. It seems to me that 
neither one is a very profitable business. But perhaps 
you have an aesthetic sense, and do not care to bother 
yourself with such a sordid thing as business. That is a 
mighty pleasant state to be in, but it will be worth your 
while as a lover of the aesthetic to get down to common- 
sense business for one day. New Year's Day is a good 
day for this. Take inventory. Make plans. These are 
the simple injunctions of a business man, but they are as 
fundamental in the life of every person as in the life of 
every country store or great corporation. Look yourself 
over. You'll be surprised what you find. You will find 
that you have qualities that you never expected, and lack a 
lot that you thought you were stocked up with. Ask your- 
self : What have I done at college ? Is my mind any bet- 
ter developed ? Is my body healthier than it was when I 
entered the University? Have I better morals? Am I 
any happier ? 

But what good is all this inventory? That depends. 
If I do the same simple thing that the business man does 

122 The University Magazine 

I will begin to stock up and patch up where I am lacking, 
and polish up where I am plentiful. I now have a definite, 
intelligent view of what I am, and what I have done. 
Therefore, I can make more sensible plans for a future 
life. This is a business principle applying to the in per- 
sonem as well as to the in rem. The business of living is 
important. Could not our New Year's resolutions be 
made a sounder policy in carrying on this business, if made 
in accordance with this plan and principle? 

M. B. F. 

The students of almost every college claim to have a 
spirit all their own, and the publications of many of these 
institutions yield valuable space trying to explain the 
wonderful creature. Our beloved Tar Heel, being caught 
in the current, has been guilty of trying to solve the mys- 
tery of University Spirit and innocently refers to the 
moral atmosphere of the campus as a "Carolina Spirit." 
And now the Magazine becomes lonesome and begs per- 
mission to discuss the subject. 

After talking with Carolina men who have come here 
from other colleges, we have no hesitancy in saying that 
we believe our morality is above that of the average insti- 
tution. Let it be so; we are not justified in boasting of 
that which it is our duty to maintain as North Carolina 
citizens. We should strive to reach a higher plane rather 
than thank God we are not like the other sinner. 

But we want to discuss the college spirit, — that thing 
which is represented by the majority in any group of 
people. It is reported that every student at Sewanee Uni- 
versity tries to make the team; that is the spirit of the 
place. At Davidson every man tries for at least one stu- 
dent activity, one-fifth attempt football; that leaves over 
three hundred fellows for other activities. This, I would 
classify as an ideal college spirit. 

The University Magazine 123 

Since there are more student activities here than at 
Davidson, we will be liberal and say that an ideal college 
spirit at Carolina would put one man out of every six in a 
football uniform. That would leave eight or nine hundred 
for basketball, track, dramatics, debating and other stu- 
dent activities. Of course, every one of these two hun- 
dred wouldn't make the team, not even the trips. But 
they could make good, for all that is necessary to make 
good is to force the fellow who does make the team to 
keep fighting for his place. 

Three or four hundred men do practically all the extra 
curriculum work at the University. What are the other 
eight or nine hundred doing ? Some have courses that re- 
quire most of their time, it is true, but no student is living 
the fullest life possible who does only that which is re- 
quired of him. We just must admit that the majority 
of the fellows look on from a distance. With them 
dwells our college spirit. They cheer the varsity when the 
team is going good and abuse it when it strikes a slump. 
They abuse the scrubs and treat the reserves with con- 
tempt ; they borrow the Tar Heel, — but let me stop before 
I place myself in the same group. 

Do they represent our college spirit? Is it w r orth the 
bragging about? 


Doesn't it seem strange that in order to develop a 
strong mind one must use it incessantly until it is ex- 
hausted, then after a short rest put it to work again? 
And the same is true of the body, the muscles never exer- 
cised never grow. . . . Thereby hangs the excuse for 
this little editorial. 

Students of any college are prone to judge the success 
or failure of their different teams by the number of games 
won or lost. Victory is exceedingly fine. It carries with 
it that feeling of superiority. But the primary purpose 

124 The University Magazine 

of athletics should be to develop the physical man, give 
him a quick mental judgment and at the same time teach 
him to appreciate and respect the rights of the other fel- 
low, his opponent in the contest. This being true the size 
of the score would necessarily be regulated to the back- 
ground, and success of any college in athletics would be 
based on the percentage of its students who try to make 
the different teams. It is hard for the majority of the 
students to adopt this doctrine. However, if all the Caro- 
lina boys were trying for at least one team, we would never 
know defeat from a Southern institution. And if all the 
Davidson students were to do the same, they may occas- 
ionally be overpowered by some of the larger colleges ; but 
their success would be equal to ours because their athletics 
would be accomplishing that for which they should exist. 


The English Department has authorized the announce- 
ment of the following prizes : A set of Dr. Battle's History 
of the University for the freshman who does the best 
work in English; and ten volumes in the World's Classic 
iSeries (Oxford University Press) are offered by the 
English Department to the undergraduate who publishes 
the best verse in the University Magazine during the 
year. The volumes are to be selected by the winner of the 

As the Magazine is extremely weak, poetically speak- 
ing, we hope a large number will enter for the latter 
prize and at the same time help us put the department of 
poetry on a parallel with the other departments. 


With pleasure we publish on another page some remi- 
niscences of Mr. E. H. Kicks, of Rocky Mount, who served 

The University Magazine 125 

through the entire Civil War and has very vividly de- 
scribed some incidents that the historian is usually forced 
to omit. Mr. Ricks is extremely interested in North Caro- 
lina history. Recently he gave twenty-five thousand dol- 
lars for the purpose of having a complete history of the 
State written. Dr. Hill, ex-president of A. and M. Col- 
lege, has been selected to write the history. 

126 The University Magazine 

Wfje picture 


The telegram dropped to the floor. The physician 
hesitated a moment — then he walked into the dimly 
lighted room. A woman lay back among the pillows, still 
and white. Her large gray eyes seemed to be fixed on 
something afar off. Her soft hair, which was thinner 
than it used to be about the temples, was pushed back, as 
though smoothed by the perspiration of suffering. 

The physician seated himself by the woman and holding 
her thin white hand in his own, he felt her feeble pulse. 
He looked steadily at her. His eyes were almost yearning 
as they penetrated with the intuitive understanding that 
belongs to physicians and mothers. But she seemed un- 
conscious of his presence. Leaning close to her, he spoke 
softly but distinctly. "Philip," he said, "will come at 
midnight." The woman did not move. Presently she 
turned her head ever so slightly, as though the words had 
just reached her. 

"At midnight ?" Her voice was a faint echo. 

"Yes," replied the physician. "We will wake you when 
he comes." 

She tried to smile, but her lips fixed themselves wist- 
fully, doubtfully. "You will — wake me — at midnight?" 
she questioned with the tone of one who shakes the head 
while speaking. The doctor felt the full meaning of her 
words. He looked at her with the tenderness born of a 
long friendship. He remembered the little girl he had 
nursed through measles ; he remembered the young mother 
he had brought through the valley of the shadow of death ; 
he remembered the wife watching by the bedside of her 
dying husband. He took her hand in both of his and in 
a full low voice said, 

The University Magazine 127 

''I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, 
The best and the last." 

For an instant the eyes of the woman were luminous. 

With these words the physician rose quietly and walked 
to the opposite side of the room. He spoke in a low voice 
to a girl who was heating water on an alcohol lamp. "Go 
right on with the medicine as usual, Nita," he said. "There 
is very little we can do. I will get her son here as soon 
as the train arrives. It may be a little late." The girl 
listened while she filled the hot water bag. As she finished 
her task the door closed behind the physician. 

She placed the bag at the woman's feet. Then, seating 
herself by the bed, the girl looked at the lines of suffering 
on the face before her and inwardly prayed that the mother 
might be spared to see her son. The boy, she knew, was 
an artist and had been abroad for several years. Nita 
thought of the letter she had read to the mother a few 
weeks before. "I will tell you all about the picture when 
I come," he had written. "I am saving this for one of our 
talks. I will learn the day I sail if it is a success. I have 
put my best into it, Mother — " 

The woman stirred slightly. "Phillip," she murmured 
softly. "Phillip." She was years away, living again with 
cherished memories. 

"I can see his little hands now," she was saying. "They 
were shaped like mine. I knew he would be an artist. 
All the ionging I had ever felt seemed to be a part of him. 

"He loved pictures from the beginning — we pored over 
them together. . . . One clay we were looking at 
Eosa Bonheur's pictures of animals. All at once he said, 
'Look, Mother, a woman painted these. Why didn't you 
paint pictures, Mother V He looked at me so earnestly. 

" 'You don't, think,' I said, 'that these are more beauti- 
ful than a real little boy V I sometimes wonder what he 

The girl reached to the table for the patient's medicine. 

128 The Univeksity Magazine 

"It is time for this now," said said, as she raised the wo- 
man gently from her pillows. The invalid took it without 
demurring. Then as the girl stooped to smooth the crum- 
pled pillows the woman caught the strong young arms. 
There was a feverish intensity in her voice as she spoke. 

"Nita, when he comes if I don't know that he is here, 
come close and tell me that it's Phillip — make me know 
it, JNTita. When he comes — he will tell me — about the 
picture. I have felt as Phillip must have felt about it. 
It is almost as though I painted it. Surely God — " 
The woman gasped for breath. Perspiration broke upon 
her brow. She swallowed in gulps. Her eyes seemed 
to bulge. She prayed brokenly. "The Lord — have mercy 
upon us — and bless us — and cause his face to shine up- 
on us." She sank back among the pillows. The girl 
stood with streaming eyes and clenched hands. The 
woman continued to breathe faintly. A gust from some- 
where blew the lamp. It nickered and almost failed. The 
deep silence was like a spirit hovering in the night. 

After a long time the front door opened and closed. 
There were hurried footsteps in the hall. A tall young 
man entered with the physician and stepped quickly to the 
bedside. He saw the still white figure. "Mother," he 
cried brokenly. "Mother." The woman did not move. 
The physician bent over her with his ear close to the 
mother's heart. A deep sob shook the young man's frame. 
The last words of the woman still rang in Nita's ear, 
"Surely God — ." The woman opened her eyes slowly. 

"Phillip." All the tenderness of a mother's soul was 
in the word. 

"0 Mother," he cried, "it has been you — you all the 
time. It was you in me that made them call me great." 

"The picture — Phillip ?" She almost gasped for breath. 

"When they saw you, Mother, — you, as I know you, they 
said, 'It is wonderful. . . . There is something about 
her that is like my mother.' " 

The University Magazine 129 

Hobtng VMan 


"Beautiful night." Thus Hattie Watson slyly. 

Her escort grunted sourly. It wasn't his fault that 
he had to accompany her to that most brilliant of school 
functions, the Juniors' reception to the Seniors; further- 
more, if he didn't want to talk he didn't have to, and all 
the Hattie Watsons this side of the pearly gates couldn't 
make him. 

Hattie coughed in a manner most aggravating to the 
harassed feelings of her taciturn companion. 

"Consumption?" he asked. 

"Certainly not." 

"Well, what are you going along here coughing for ?" 

"My stars, can't a person cough without having you bite 
their head off?" 

"No, they can't; not unless they've got something to 
cough about." 

"Well, I like that; Vivian MacMillan was telling me 
only yesterday how you said that a pretty girl's cough was 
the mellowest sound in creation; and I thought that of 
course a gentle little cough, even by me, would please any- 
one who can talk so poetically as that." 

Mr. Norman Carter hid his blushes in a handkerchief 
and his feelings in silence. He had known that she would 
talk about Vivian, and had therefore resolved on silence 
as the best refuge from gibes. Everybody talked about 
Vivian when he was around. Well, let them talk about 
her ; they couldn't be her. No one could be Vivian ! No 
one could have her shy ways, her bronze locks, her brown 
eyes, her. . . . His cogitations were brought to a 
close by the realization that Hattie was saying something. 
Hattie was generally saying something, he thought bitterly. 

130 The University Magazine 

"Don't you ?" she was querying. 

"Don't I what?" 

"Think Vivian's attractive ?" 

This was intolerable. Great Cicero, did the whole world 
have to remind him that his affections were public prop- 
erty? And Hattie Watson, the jealous little prattler, 
what business was it of hers that he wished Vivian were 
at his side in her stead ? But even as he began to sputter, 
Hattie saw signs of impending wrath, and, like the able 
general that she was, shifted her center of attack. 

"Don't you think Robert Avery's good looking?" she 
asked enthusiastically. 

The straw! Robert Avery, that conceited dude, who 
thought he owned the world just because he was a Sopho- 
more at college, and drove his mother's roadster around; 
Robert Avery, who had come home from college for the 
week just to lord it over the rest of them; Robert Avery, 
who corresponded with Vivian and had been invited by the 
heartless juniors to bring her to the reception ! Norman 
controlled his vexed feelings just in time; he would show 
this vixen that he could be magnanimous. 

"Yes," he answered, in tones that were not coolly in- 
different, try as he would to make them so, "he's mighty 
good looking." 

Hattie giggled. "I guess Vivian's glad he's got a ma- 
chine," she said. 

Another sore point. He knew, as well as any, Vivian's 
fondness for motor cars and their appurtenances, including 
owners. How often had he bemoaned the adverse fate 
that denied him this means of pleasing one so worthy of 
being gratified. The conversation was beginning to wear 
on Norman's nerves ; he quickened his pace. Hattie, per- 
force, quickened hers also. 

"Poor little boy," she said in emollient tones, "he'll get 
over it tomorrow." 

The University Magazine 131 

Even a gentleman may lose his temper. "Look here," 
began the gentleman in tones portentous of expressions 
that would not please his audience, "if you — !" His repu- 
tation as a speaker of soft words was saved, however, by 
their arrival at the school, with the accompanying neces- 
sity of going down the receiving line. Then Hattie van- 
ished to those mysterious regions where ladies remove 
their wraps, and Norman heaved one large well-rounded 
sigh of relief. Now for Vivian. 

But Vivian was not present, and he sauntered towards 
the punch bowl to drown his pique in drink and conver- 
sation with its sprightly custodian. 

"Let's drink a toast," he said gaily, halting the upward 
progress of his cup. 

"All right," she sparkled back, "Here's to Vivian." 

This bit of insolence cooled Norman's desire for re- 
freshment, and he roamed toward the steps. Upstairs a 
piano was being played. He followed the siren call and 
found the once modest second floor hall converted, by 
means of Japanese lanterns and the presence of the piano, 
into a salon dansant. Filled with sudden chivalry by 
the absence of Vivian, he honored his history teacher with 
a waltz. The advent of Vivian produced a quick deser- 
tion. Miss MacMillan, to his bewitched sight, appeared 
more alluring than ever before: her filmy gown put the 
dresses of the other girls to shame; her elaborate coiffure 
set her apart as on a pedestal; her silver pumps were 
idylls ; she was "There," with a capital T, as he soliloquiz- 
ed while making for her side. 

"This dance, Vivian ?" His words dripped hope. 

Mr. Robert Avery appeared at the head of the steps. 
"All right, Viv," he called in markedly proprietary tones. 

Norman took a step toward Vivian. She backed into 
Robert's arms; but even as she started into the dance, 

132 The University Magazine 

leaned to whisper into Norman's offended ear, "He's my 

Someone giggled behind Norman. He turned to see 
Hattie gliding off with a laughing youth. Disconsolate, 
he wandered into a deserted class room to let his fallen 
pride regain its wonted position. After a few minutes 
someone slipped noiselessly into the room. 

"Norman," a soft voice called. 

He debated whether to answer or not. 

"O Norman." 

Youthful love cannot stand high pressure; his stifled 
voice said, "What?" 

She slipped into a seat across the aisle from where he 

"You aren't mad ?" A smooth hand lay temptingly 
on the desk before her. He did not notice that there was 
a ring on one finger. 

"Of course not." His sulky voice belied itself. 

"Norman Carter, you are; you know perfectly well 
that I had to dance first with the person who brought me ; 
I don't thing you're treating me a bit nicely." 

This was indeed balm for sore spirits; to have Beauty 
beseeching his forgiveness was well worth the price of 
wounded feelings. 

"I haven't done anything to you ;" it was hard for him to 
keep the exultation out of his voice. 

"That's right, blame it all on me;" there was a nicely 
adjusted catch in her smooth voice. 

His barriers went down. "You know I couldn't ever 
blame you, Vivian." 

"Sure?" O seductive maid, who taught you the art of 
winning back the hearts of affronted cavaliers 1 

Norman rose. 

"Now I know you didn't mean it; you're going;" Viv- 
ian's tones were almost panicky. 

The Univeesity Magazine 133 

"Going where?" replied Norman in daring accents. 
"I was just wondering whether that seat would hold two." 

"0, you bold thing," she said delightfully; also she 
seemed to move ever so little to one side. 

Norman proved that the seat would hold two; but 
fearing that he might lose his balance, grasped a certain 
slim hand to steady himself. In place of steadying him, 
however, it intoxicated him. 

"That's my hand," the fair maiden said modestly. 

"Sure?" he mimicked her; and the hand remained 
where it was. 

Have you, Mr. Reader, ever held a girl's hand? Nor- 
man, bashful suitor as he was, never had. New experi- 
ences breed new actions, and dark rooms are incubators for 
incipient romances. Wherefore, Mr. Norman Carter, 
aged eighteen and a half years and fully aware of the fact 
that he was not a man, hatched forth into a fledgeling lover. 

"Say, Viv, where were you yesterday afternoon?" 

"Oh, I don't know." 

"I guess Bob Avery knows." A tremor shot through 
her hand ; but no, he was only guessing, for he continued, 
"Everybody has to have automobiles these days." 

"Oh, I don't know." 

"Yes, they do." 

"Some folks don't;" no mistake about the accent on that 
some; his free arm crept around the back of the bench. 

"Who, for instance ?" His voice was tremulous, for he 
felt his heart leaving him. 

"Oh, I don't know." 

"Me ?" 

"Maybe." Had she pressed his hand ? He was fairly 
aflame with tender emotion. 

"Say yes, Viv." 

"0 Norman, this is so sudden." Her voice sounded in- 
viting; his still free arm sought its natural resting place. 

134 The Univeesity Magazine 

"It ought not to be sudden; nothing I do ought ever be 

"Why ?" so low, so modestly. 

He plunged. "Because I love you; honest I do; I know 
I'm still in school, but I can't help it ; you're just too won- 
derful;" and appalled at his own temerity but conscious 
that it was the only thing to do under the circumstances, 
he drew her close and gave her an enraptured kiss. 

"Norman Carter!" 

"What ?" his tones were anxious — nay, stricken. 

"I'm surprised at you ; I'll never forgive you ; to think 
of your taking advantage of a poor defenseless girl; just 
because I try to be nice you treat me like that." 

"But, Viv, I do;" his voice was embarrassed but sin- 
cere; and his heart was so openly at her disposal that she 
had to be mollified. 

"I don't care, you oughtn't to have done it ;" but she was 
obviously less angry ; "and, and anyway you're so foolish. 
Why you haven't even been to college." 

This was bear-baiting with a vengeance. Darn that 
vain sophomore with his notions and cute ways. Did 
Vivian want everybody to be like Bob Avery. Norman 
started to explode, but Vivian, perceiving danger signals, 
hurried on: 

"And just think of me; why I'll only be eighteen to- 
morrow; just a kid. I look like loving anybody. You're 
an awful nice boy, honey, but it's so ridiculous." 

What chivalrous gentleman can disagree with the state- 
ments of a pretty and near-angry maiden ? Not Norman. 
As Vivian rose and moved toward the door, he mumbled: 

"I guess you're right as usual, and I'm seven kinds of 
a nut. But I'm not going to beg your pardon. You 
just wait a few years and we'll see." 

Vivian giggled as she disappeared through the door; 

The University Magazine 135 

when lie followed her a moment later she was dancing down 
the hall with Robert Avery. 

* * 4fr * # -X- -H- •}(■ 

Norman came to school the next morning wondering 
whether a glance from Vivian would set him a-blushing. 
Fortunately for his shy spirit she was absent. Here was 
food for thought, and Norman chewed it as the grade 
marched to chapel. Owing to clever maneuvering on that 
lady's part, he found himself beside Hattie. As soon as 
the devout principal was lost in the intricacies of the 
morning prayer, she moved nearer her escort of the previ- 
ous evening. 

"Vivian's not sick," she said without malice in her 

"Where is she ?" 

"Oh, New York, I guess," in a vague manner, sug- 
gestive of unlimited possibilities. 

"What do you mean ?" 

"Why, she and Bob Avery drove to Hanover last night 
and were married. They're honey-mooning now." 

"You're not so. Why, just last night I — I ." 

"Poor boy, I know. She told me yesterday afternoon 
that Mrs. MacMillan had had two proposals before she 
was eighteen, and she just had to prove that she was as 
attractive as her mother." 

"Amen," said the devout principal. 

Norman blinked. 

136 The University Magazine 

i£>ome &emtnfecence* of g>erbtce in Confederate &rmp 


On April 20, 1861, in charge of Lieutenant W. S. 
Lowry, and in company with W. T. Bryan and Captain 
J. H. Thorpe, I left Rocky Mount as a member of the 
Edgecombe Guards. We went to Fort Macon, and having 
remained there only a few days, were taken to Raleigh 
and encamped in the old Fair Grounds. Early in May 
ihe First Regiment was formed with our company, the 
Edgecombe Guards, as Company A. We were drilled 
from four to six hours a day in order to get ready as soon 
as possible for the field. We were in this camp when the 
salute of twenty-four guns, on May 20, announced the 
passage of the ordinance of secession. 

On the eighteenth of May our regiment boarded the 
train and was taken to Richmond and there encamped in 
Howard Grove. While there I saw Burwell Dunn strike 
Henry L. Wyatt with his rifle, laying the skull bare — 
the wound had not healed when Wyatt was killed at Bethel. 
We remained in Richmond only a short time, from there 
being taken directly to Yorktown. On May 26th we were 
put to work on the breastworks, at the same time spending 
several hours each day in severe drill. By this time we 
were pretty well prepared for the hard service that follow- 
ed so soon. 

About June 8th our regiment was moved to Bethel 
Church and there again put to work on the fortifications. 
Here we received our baptism of fire. On the morning of 
June 10th the enemy appeared in large numbers, but was 
repulsed, the battle lasting from ten o'clock in the morn- 
ing until one o'clock in the afternoon. During this en- 
gagement, while trying to burn an old house behind which 
the enemy's sharpshooters were concealed, Henry L. 
Wyatt, a member of our company, was killed, the first 

The University Magazine 137 

Confederate soldier to fall in battle. Five others of our 
company, including myself, were wounded. 

Soon after this measles broke out in the camp, and 
many men died from the disease. I was very sick myself. 

Since we had enlisted for only six months, our term 
expired in November. We were marched to Grove's Wharf 
in Old Jamestown, taken thence by boat to Richmond, and 
there on November 13th, disbanded. 

I remained at home until March 1st, 1862, when I 
again enlisted in a company of light artillery, raised by 
G. W. 'Lewis, afterwards colonel of the 43d N". C. Regri- 
ment. Of this company, W. P. Lloyd was captain and 
V. J. Stewart and Joe Payne were lieutenants. We went 
first to Raleigh and then to a camp of instruction at 
Richmond. While there I saw a Federal spy hanged. His 
name was Webster. We were in this camp when the battle 
of Seven Pines was fought. Since we had not yet received 
our guns we were armed with long double edged knives 
that were fastened to a shaft about eight feet long. We 
were not engaged and soon afterwards turned in our knives 
to the Ordnance Department, and I saw nothing like them 

On June 15th we received our guns and took position 
on the south side of the James River, where we remained 
until General Lee moved after Pope and defeated him in 
the second battle of Bull Run. Onr company had not 
caught up with the army when this battle was fought and 
consequently was not engaged in it. We joined the army 
at Leesburg and moved with it to Sharpsburg, participat- 
ing in that bloody battle. I escaped unhurt. We crossed 
the river at Shepherdstown, General Jackson sitting on 
his horse about midway the stream and urging the men to 
move rapidly. , 

Just after we crossed the river, I saw something that 
was amusing. The wagons were parked in a field of about 

138 The University Magazine 

one hundred acres and completely covered it. The enemy 
had planted a battery of about twenty guns on a hill and 
began to throw shot into this field — something that a driver 
could not stand. It seemed that at almost the same in- 
stant every wagon began to move, the horses being driven 
at full speed, across ditches, corn rows, and fences until 
they came within the shelter of the woods. 

We were now encamped around Winchester. Our bat- 
tery (Lloyd's) had suffered heavily in men and horses, 
and for this reason it was broken up and divided between 
Manly's and Riley's batteries. I went with Manly's. After 
this breakup, we moved to Culpeper Court House and re- 
mained there until early in December. Then we moved by 
way of Chancellorsville to Fredericksburg, arriving there 
on the most disagreeable day I spent in the army. All day 
and all night the rain fell in torrents, and we were with- 
out tents and had but little fire. On the morning of De- 
cember 13th, General Burnside moved across the river, 
and the battle began, raging furiously for several days. 
We were actively engaged, our position being near Marye's 
Heights. Just before this battle we had been assigned to 
McLaw's division of Longstreet's corps. During the sum- 
mer and fall provisions had been scarce and frequently 
for days we were compelled to subsist on green corn and 
about one-fourth rations. We learned to live on this, how- 
ever, and I heard but little complaint. 

About January 1st we moved near Chesterfield Station 
and went into winter quarters where we remained with but 
little disturbance until about April 1st when we moved 
back near Fredericksburg, and Manly's Battery with oth- 
er troops was sent to check the advance on Lee's rear. We 
came up with the enemy at Salem Church, about three 
miles west of Fredericksburg, and for a short time there 
was some of the bloodiest fighting that I saw during the 
war. In this encounter several of our companions were 

The University Magazine 139 

killed or wounded, but by some good luck I escaped with- 
out a scratch. 

Soon after this the artillery of the army was re-organ- 
ized. Manly's and Riley's batteries of North Carolina, 
Carlton's and Frazier's of Georgia, and the Eichmond 
Howitzers of Virginia were placed in a battalion with H. 
C. Cabell as our colonel. We were still attached to Long- 
street's corps. 

From Fredericksburg we moved by way of Culpeper 
Court House to Williamsport, Md. Fording the river at 
this point, we moved by Chambersburg, Penn., to Gettys- 
burg. Arriving there July 2d, we took a position in front 
of Peach Orchard. From this point I saw Pickett's grand 
charge and its repulse. Our guns being short ranged, we 
did not participate in the duel between the one hundred 
and forty Confederate guns and the seventy-eight Federal 
cannon. The sight and sound of two hundred and eighteen 
cannon firing for three or four hours is never to be for- 

From Gettysburg we moved south along the Emmetts- 
burg Road back to Williamsport. On the way I captured 
a very fine ham, but just how I did it would not be very 
interesting. Another incident that I recall as occurring 
about this time was rather amusing. Little Joey Owen, 
of Tarboro, one of the best boys I ever saw, had secured 
a citizen's horse, saddle and high silk hat. Having found 
some wine, he had taken a little. Seeing General Lee, he 
rode up, doffed his hat, and inquired of the general the 
position of Captain Manly's battery. General Lee looked 
over his shoulder at Joey and sternly commanded, "Put 
that man under arrest." 

At Williamsport we had to wait several days before we 
could cross the river. We were then engaged in a sharp 
little conflict at Frankstown, where Charley Howard and 
George Bridgers were killed. After getting back to Vir- 

140 The Univeesity Magazine 

ginia, our battery spent the fall and winter at Orange 
Court House. 

In the battle of the Wilderness in May, 1864, we were 
but slightly engaged. I was near General Longstreet when 
he was brought out of the woods wounded — mortally, I 

From the Wilderness we were marched to Spottsylvania 
Court House where for about ten days we were engaged in 
the thickest of the fighting. Moving now in front of 
Grant, we were frequently engaged in slight skirmishes 
until we reached Cold Harbor, where from June 1st to 
to June 12th we were hotly engaged. I was slightly 
wounded five times during the battle. Our gun carriage 
was completely disabled by rifle balls, and in our immedi- 
ate front about thirteen thousand of the enemy were killed 
and wounded within the space of an hour. Such slaughter 
as this I saw nowhere else. Lieutenant Payne was killed, 
Lieutenant Dunn had his leg shot away above the knee, 
and Corporal Cummings was killed. We were now moved 
rapidly to Petersburg and were engaged on the defenses 
during the summer. We were not in the bloodiest of the 
fighting here, and my usual good luck stood by me, so I 
was not hurt. 

On April 1st, 1865, the army was forced to retreat from 
Petersburg and I did not stop to sleep one hour during 
the retreat to Appomattox. About four o'clock in the after* 
noon of April 8th we passed through Appomattox Court 
House, and about two miles further on we repulsed an 
attack of the Federal cavalry. Then and there I saw the 
last man killed in that terrible struggle, Henry Biggs, the 
gallant son of Judge Asa Biggs. Late in the evening I 
saw the enemy passing between us and General Lee. We 
were left outside and I made my escape. 

I left home to join the army on April 20th, 1861, and 
returned on April 23d, 1865. 

The University Magazine 141 

I visited the battlefields of Fredericksburg, Salem 
Church, and Chancellorsville some years ago and found 
that part of the country still in the woods and more di- 
lapidated than in those days. The old works are still there, 
and though forty years have reduced them to mere ditches, 
I could easily locate every position our battery occupied. 
Cannon balls, rifle balls, gun caps, and buttons can still 
be found in the works. Cannon balls could still be seen 
in the old trees and in the old house at Chancellorsville. 

142 The University Magazine 

So OTfjom 3t Jfflap Concern 


I mun agree wi' Bobbie Burns, 
A plain man o' the masses, sir: 

Nae matter what my poor head learns, 
My heart mun hae the lasses, sir. 

I dinna kick agen your schools, 
JSTae doot they're very aidin', sir ; 

But though my head abide the rules, 
My heart mun hae the maidens, sir. 

Mere men are good — but out of date: 
Ye canna' kiss — (de'il seize thee, sir, 

My words dinna' insinuate — 

Just wishing, an it please thee, sir.) 

Life's Arboretum, where we stroll 

'Mong paths both bright and shady, sir— 

'Twould lead us to an empty goal, 
An 'twere na for the ladies, sir, 

For TL N". C, for Auld Lang Syne, — 
Where'er love's flame hath glowed, sir,— 

My thoughts are mine, my purse is thine, 
My heart — it is the co-eds', sir. 

The University Magazine 143 

Cfje Qtriangle 


Matters Logical 
Professor Williams said in Philosophy II : "If a man 
is engaged to one girl and loves another, what should he 
do ? There you have a moral situation." 

Now there are three very obvious things the gentleman 
could do: he could marry the girl he was engaged to; or 
the girl he loved; or not marry either — and some young 
smart Alex suggested that he could move to Utah and 
marry both of them. 

We are given three characters : 
Jean, Fiancee, 
Albert, Lover, 
Madelaine, the Loved, 
and three solutions. 

Here's what might happen in the First, in which Jean 
is the wife: 


Scene. — A living room in neatly furnished New York 
apartment. The room is done in green and silver, in the 
rear is an opening into a hall, hung with green velvet cur- 
tains pulled back to show an elaborate Japaneses silver 

Jean. — I want you to be nice to Madelaine, dear, I'm 
so sorry for her. 

Albert (impatiently). — Why all this fuss about Miss 
Williams ? 

Jean. — She has had a great sorrow. Don't you remem- 
ber when she visited me last fall ? She told me then that 
she was in love with the finest man in the world and ex- 
pected to marry him. 

Albert. — And the man? 

144 The University Magazine 

Jean. — He died. 

Albert. — She might have married someone else. It's 
easy enough nowadays. Maybe she's gone into this Pank- 
hurst business and expects to be a congresswoman from 

Jean. — ISTo, she's not that way at all. She's never re- 
covered from the blow — the lover who died lives still 
in her heart. 

[A bell rings and a maid announces "Miss Williams."] 
(Madelaine enters, dressed in black, with black hat and 

Jean (kissing her). — It's so good to have you here. My 
husband. But of course, you met Al on my house party. 

Albert. — Certainly I met Miss Williams then. I'm de- 
lighted to see you. (The maid enters and speaks to Jean.) 

Jean. — Madelaine, darling, mother has phoned for me. 
She's been ill and I may have to be there the whole even- 
ing. Albert will entertain you and if you need anything, 
tell Marie, she's a treasure. Well, good-bye for this time. 

(Jean takes wraps from maid and goes out back.) 

(A long pause). . 

(Madelaine slowly removes her coat, hats and furs.) 

Albert. — Well, isn't it bad enough without the black? 
I suppose someone told you black was becoming. 

Madelaine. — I am in mourning. The thing I love has 

Albert. — Then why did you come here? To haunt me? 

Madelaine. — To kill my love. 

Albert. — But I thought it was dead. 

Madelaine. — ~No, you are the dead one. I'm in mourn- 
ing for you. All my life I told myself that some day 
I should love with all my power. I never had school-girl 
cases like Jean. I was waiting for the Great Adventure, 
and then I met you. You came into my heart and built 
an ideal there. 

The University Magazine 145 

Albert. — You women are always building ideals for us 
men. Take us as we really are. 

Madelaine. — You really were that to me. You loved me 
and I gave myself to you in the abandon and joy of my 
only love. 

Albert. — And you were never more sacred to me than 
you were then. I loved you with all my 

Madelaine. — Yes, enough to break my heart. 

Albert. — But I had been engaged to Jean for months. 
Didn't she tell you ? 

Madelaine. — No, she said she was thinking of getting 
married. There were half a dozen eligible lovers. I never 
thought of you until — you seemed apart from the others — 
absolutely mine. 

Albert. — But Madelaine, how could I go to Jean whom 
I had made love to a thousand times and tell her that I 
had made a mistake ? I could not. 

Madelaine. — You raised my hopes with kisses and then 
killed them for someone you didn't love. You stabbed 
my life with its ideals for Jean — Jean who had so many 
lovers in her life. 

Albert. — Don't think that you are the only one who 
suffers [Jean has entered the hall at back and stands 
listening]. You said I was dead, you are right. I killed 
myself when I married Jean. It was my duty. Every 
day, every night, it has been one long horror piled on an- 
other. Life of hypocrisy, deceit, affected emotion — always 
the thought of your love, complete, everlasting, that I have 
missed, of the joy we would have had together. My heart's 
desire, gone! Killed by myself. Yes, I am dead and in 
Hell here. 

[Jean involuntarily gasps. Albert and Madelaine turn 
and see her.] 

Jean [coming down stage, laughing hysterically.] (To 
Madelaine) : So this is your dead lover? (She turns to 

146 The University Magazine 

Albert) : And you are dead, too 1 That's fortunate, as I've 
only made life a hell for you. 

[Continuing — as if she and Madelaine were alone]. 
— He pleaded with me, he couldn't live without me. He 
loved me with all his heart and soul and body; with his 
yesterdays and tomorrows and all the rest of Mrs. Brown- 
ing's sonnets, my beloved ! 

And Jean was such a bright-hearted, credulous young 
thing with her love affairs, what could she know of 
The Eeal Thing ? You two martyrs ! Poor soulful Made- 
laine and Albert who lives in Hell — with Jean. Jean 
who's just an ordinary girl with no great love and giving 
no joy at all. 

Albert. — Jean, for God's sake hush! I am a coward. 
I was one. But there is some way out. I owe my life to 
you, Jean. Are you mad ? 

Jean. — No, there is no way out. All my life I am 
the great thief, the ordinary person who has robbed your 
souls — you two with the love the joy of which no lovers 
have ever known. I'm a thief, a wall between you — the 
extra in the equation. I have stolen your lives. I don't 
matter. I'm superfluous. [She runs back to the hall, 
pulls the green curtains behind her. A sound like a piece 
of furniture falling. 

Madelaine shrieks. 

Albert stands rigid with horror, then rushes and pulls 
back the curtains. The Japaneses screen has fallen torn to 
the floor beneath an open window. Madelaine too ap- 
proaches the window and then comes down left and sinks 
down on a sofa, quivering. 

There is a silence of several seconds when several men 
come in with a body on a covered stretcher. The maid is 
weeping audibly. Gradually the room is emptied save 
for the two and the stretcher which has been placed in 
middle of room.] 

The University Magazine 147 

Albert (speaking difficultly). — The generosity of Jean. 
She meant to bring us together, Madelaine. We will 
always cherish her memory. 

Madelaine. — That is what Jean — all women do not 
want to be cherished ! They ask for love, all or nothing ! 

Albert. — There was no way out of the triangle. Now. 

Madelaine. — Stop ! Always it will be there. Even if 
we were in each other's arms, Jean would be between us. 
I am going away. You must never come after me. 
Never ! 

Albert. — You don't know what you are saying. Jean 
has been sacrificed in vain, then ? 

Madelaine. — You must see that she has not been sacri- 

Albert. — I see nothing except that I love you and want 
you, and you love me and want me. Why can't we live 
our lives together. Why ? 

Madelaine (in a low voice). — Because, because we are 

[It is quite dark now in the room, in the hall outside a 
few rays of moonlight have filtered through the window 
on the torn silver screen. The woman, going out, steps 
over it with a visible shudder as the curtain falls.] 

148 The University Magazine 

Wl>o 3 Mm 


It is with hesitancy that I attempt to write at any 
length concerning myself, but, since this is a task imposed 
by authority not to be denied, I shall proceed as best I may. 

The physical characteristics of a person are, I suppose, to 
be first considered, since impressions, especially first im- 
pressions, are based primarily upon the external appear- 
ance. My physical development, or rather the lack of it, 
has been to me a source of much useless regret. In in- 
fancy and early childhood I was afflicted by almost all the 
ailments common to that period of life. Indeed it seemed 
as though some evil spirit of disease had appropriated 
my body that he might carry on his nefarious experiments. 
One illness followed another in almost unbroken succes- 
sion, extending through childhood and early youth. How- 
ever, at the age of about ten years, the hold of periodic 
illness weakened, because of the exhaustion, I suppose, of 
the catalogue of known infirmities. My sole consolation 
in considering this period of my life lies in the hope that 
destiny holds something better in store for me than a pre- 
mature exit from this world as the discarded laboratory 
of the disease genii. 

It is to this early period of illness that I attribute the 
smallness of my physique. This is a handicap which, 
though unavoidable, is, I fear, serious. I have no desire 
to attain an abnormal development, but I think it only nat- 
ural that I should desire a normal physical personality. 
With this as my goal I have devoted much time to outdoor 
and indoor exercise. In my early youth I engaged in all 
the games in which a Southern boy finds exercise and 
amusement. As I grew older the sphere of my opportun- 
ities to take part in athletics broadened. A Y. M. C. A. 
building was erected in our town, and along with my boy 

The University Magazine 149 

associates I entered gymnasium training. This, in turn, 
gave way, in my last year at high school, to football. 
Though I have not attained even an average proficiency 
in this sport, I think it has been of more benefit to me 
than any other branch of athletics, for it has combined 
with physical exertion an exercise of my mental powers 
which I hope will result in an increased efficiency. And 
although I have given up hope of ever developing an 
average physical personality, I am trying to make the best 
use of what I have. 

In my religious life I have had more favorable advan- 
tages, but I fear they have been abused. Since I was born 
in a Christian home and trained from earliest childhood 
in religious observances, some of the most vivid recollec- 
tions of my childhood are those of the weekly attendance 
of Sunday school and church. My parents regularly at- 
tended the Baptist church and were active in religious 
work. Influenced by this environment, at a very youthful 
age I formally united with the church which I had always 
attended. My religious belief has been a very real thing 
to me, so it is with regret that I must confess that I have 
often turned aside from what is popularly known as "the 
straight and narrow path," and have committed deeds 
which considered even from the most liberal and indulg- 
ent point of view cannot fail to be condemned as unworthy 
of my faith. In looking back upon my religious life I 
think the big mistake occurred in my being unconsciously 
molded to fit into the forms of religion before I was old 
enough to grasp the true significance and real spirit of the 
process. Influenced as I was by my environment and by 
parental example it was almost inevitable that I should 
formally enter the church before I was capable of under- 
standing the real import of such a step. Had it been pos- 
sible to defer this step until I could appreciate its respon- 
sibilities and grasp its opportunities, I think some of the 

150 The University Magazine 

mistakes of the past might have been avoided. But laying 
aside such regrets I think I am fortunate in possessing a 
belief and a faith which have enabled me to avoid some 
of the more serious difficulties of immorality, to become 
broader in my sympathies and in my view of life, and 
which if allowed free rein, may serve as the inspiration of 
a useful life. 

Having dissected my physical and religious character, 
we may similarly examine my intellectual training. 

The predominant force in the intellectual training of 
the average man of modern times is his school life, and I 
am by no means an exception to this rule. Although my 
parents have only a moderate income I received the ad- 
vantage, or disadvantage, of first attending a private 
school. There I completed the major part of grammar 
school work, receiving, on account of the smallness of the 
classes, much individual attention from an exceptional 
teacher. The absence, however, of a large number of 
pupils resulted in my developing a youthful conceit, which, 
as I look back upon it, now, is at once surprising and dis- 
gusting. For these few years I lived under the illusion 
that I was the center of the universe. I think, also, that 
among the boys who attended the public school I enjoyed 
the reputation of being a "sissified" prig. A change came, 
though, when I went to the public school to finish my 
grammar school course. Here I became a unit of a much 
larger collectivity, and as a result much of that inordinate 
conceit was eliminated. The change from grammar school 
to high school had a further influence in destroying my 
illusions. A very practical aid in this process was the 
mild, but greatly dreaded, hazing to which each high school 
freshman was subjected. During my first high school 
years I think I had the average boy's conception of school 
life and opportunities — that the studies were necessary 
evils, the main business of life being to enjoy it, and the 

The University Magazine 151 

"enjoyment" was free from even a suspicion of study. 
Accordingly I took no active part in any of the school ac- 
tivities. In the last two years, however, I gradually came 
to see the importance of these literary advantages, and 
made some effort to make use of them. Having failed, in 
my third year, to win a place on our school's debating 
team, I tried it over again during my senior year and 
managed to make my place. I consider this to be one of 
the most beneficial experiences of my high school life. 

And now that my high school life is over and I am at 
the beginning of a college career, though I recognize some 
grave mistakes of the past, I think that the days spent in 
the grammar and high schools were well spent since they 
afford the foundation upon which, if I grasp my oppor- 
tunities, I may have a higher, more perfect knowledge. 

Another element of my intellectual training, my busi- 
ness experience, may be summed up by saying that for 
the four years preceding my final year at high school I in- 
termittently served, during the holidays and vacations, 
as errand boy and later as clerk in the large hardware 
store in which my father was employed. Owing to the 
lengthy intervals intervening between the vacations, I think 
that this experience had perhaps a negligible influence 
over my mental development. 

Of great importance, however, is the reading which I 
have done aside from study. Although I read far too 
many of the so-called modern novels, neglecting the class- 
ics, to be considered well read, from some of this reading 
I derived much pleasure and some benefit. A great deal 
of my time for reading has been devoted to current maga- 
zines. Especially interesting were the discussions of po- 
litical and sociological problems, and many are the hours 
which I have spent, seated in some obscure corner of the 
library, in reading articles of this character. My reading, 
though it has been sadly deficient in depth, has been the 

152 The University Magazine 

means of sharpening my intellectual faculties, and in 
time I hope to develop an appreciation of the more perma- 
nent works of poetry and prose. 

Finally, this disconnected treatment of my physical, 
religious, and intellectual development can lead but to one 
thing — my ideals. Here it is that I am most perplexed. 
Eealizing that I have had the most favorable advantages, 
procured at the cost of much parental sacrifice, it is but 
natural that I should desire to live up to my obligations, 
to fill whatever place I may have in the world. It is in 
trying to apply this theory that I am puzzled and frequent- 
ly discouraged. I have no definite purposes and ambitions, 
consequently nothing definite is accomplished. There is 
the sole consolation that this condition is the evidence of a 
necessary period of development, so I try to allay my 
doubts by hoping that with definiteness of purposes and 
ambitions there may develop the power to adapt these 
ideals to every-day life. 

The University Magazine 153 

Wt)t #leam 


A transient beam of light piercing through an unex- 
pected aperture in the clouds hurrying across the heavens, 
revealed the crouching figure of a man making his way 
along the rear of the large dark house. He shrank against 
the wall for a moment as the moonlight fell full upon 
him, but as it disappeared he glided swiftly along and 
stopped beneath the shuttered window. He fumbled at 
it for a moment, and the shutter swung open. In an in- 
credibly short time the window was raised. He listened 
intently for a moment; and then with a light spring was 
on his knees on the window sill, and disappeared within. 

On the inside he flashed a dark lantern to get his bear- 
ings, and began feeling his way cautiously across the 
room. Once he moved a chair, and the slight stir seemed 
a frightful noise. He held his breath for fear but he 
heard no sound and continued his way. On passing through 
the open door, he found himself at the foot of a carpeted 
stairway. Without hesitation he began the tedious as- 
cent. At the head of the stair, on his right, there was a 
door — closed. He peered through the keyhole, but all 
within was dark. He listened, but heard no sound. Feel- 
ing safe, he turned the knob slowly, and the door opened 
inwardly. By this time he had become somewhat ac- 
customed to the darkness, which had grown less intense as 
the clouds had thinned, and with a shiver of satisfaction 
he saw the dark bulky safe in the far corner of the room. 

In a moment he was kneeling before it. He flashed the 
dark lantern once more, and produced some tools which 
had been concealed in his clothing. Soon there was heard 
the dull, dreary, but intense, hum of a bit boring in steel. 
The lock gave way, and the door slowly opened. 

Eagerly he thrust his hand into the opening, but in- 

154 The University Magazine 

stantly lie jerked it back. His fingers had fallen on a soft, 
silky, substance which he was at a loss to explain. He 
cautiously drew aside the slide of the lantern, letting the 
light fall in the safe, and there, upon a tray filled with 
disordered silver and greenback, lay a long golden curl 
of hair. 

A startled, troubled look came into his eye, and he was 
gripped by a sudden emotion. Before him, he saw as 
plainly as in real life — a girl, his daughter, her face lit 
with a smile, waving her hand to him, while the wind 
played among her curls — so like this one. A far-off yearn- 
ing expression came over his face as his mind, spurred to 
remembrance, rehearsed in quick succession, the events of 
his later life. 

He had been section foreman in a coal mine. He re- 
membered the pretty cottage — apart from the rest, where 
he had lived so happily with his wife and daughter; and 
he winced as he looked back upon those happy days through 
the bitterness of his present condition. But the clouds of 
industrial strife loomed up in the distance. The men were 
becoming dissatisfied with their lot. The great wave of 
intense business activity had brought great profits to their 
employer, but naught to them. They could not center the 
blame on anyone, so they ended by blaming everyone. This 
vague discontent ripened into a demand for higher wages. 
Their employer saw the men were comfortable, well paid 
and did not understand why they should ask for an in- 
crease in wages. Even if he should grant their demand, 
the passing of the temporary wave of prosperity would 
leave his business in the lurch. For the men would not 
consent to a lowering of their wages. So, each realizing 
his own position, without regarding that of the other, the 
mutual bitterness grew and the strike came. 

It did not last long. Both sides made concessions, and 
work was resumed. It was not long however before the 

The University Magazine 155 

momentary prosperity began to wane. Business slackened 
and it was necessary to discharge part of the working 
force; and he, having been prominent among the men in 
the strike, was among the men thrown out of jobs. He 
looked for work, but could not find it. Men about him 
were in the same condition. 

To make matters worse his wife sickened, and the doc- 
tor's charges steadily drained his scanty savings until he 
was no longer able to provide the delicacies and comforts 
necessary for her. His inability to get work to do under 
such conditions drove him almost to desperation. He 
went out to beg, but a few curt answers cut his proud 
nature so deeply that he ceased it. Then his wife died. 

During the gloom of his wife's sickness his daughter 
had been his chief comfort. She had understood, and 
sympathized with him. But she too was taken from him. 
When her mother's death released her from attendance at 
the bedside she went out to try to get work for herself. How 
vividly he pictured her waving her hand to him where he 
stood upon the porch. The wind was playing in her curls, 
and a smile lit up a face as open and free and pure as the 
day itself. At dusk she was brought home — bloody — 
dead — run over by accident in the crowded street. 

He had drunk to the dregs his cup of bitter gall. He 
could hardly help thinking of himself as the indirect cause 
of two deaths. And his very innocence tortured him. 
Now there was left no incentive to keep the home fires 
burning. So he descended to the dark dens of crime and 
entered upon the career which led to his present place. 

Far away he heard the cock crowing; and he realized 
where he was. In the east there was the promise of dawn. 

He looked at the curl in his fingers, and clutched it 
savagely. Every golden string seemed to cry aloud for 
vengeance. But as he looked his tense nerves relaxed; a 
gentler expression came over his face, which shaded into 

156 The University Magazine 

one of inspired resolve. Reverently he pressed the curl 
to his lips, and with an infinite yearning in his eyes he 
put it where he found it upon the tray of gold. Then 
making his way from the room, he went down the stairs 
and through the window he had entered a little while 
before. The promise of morning in the east found its 
counterpart in the face of the man who went out into the 
open, his footseps to be guided as his life had been changed 
— by the gleam of a golden curl. 

Utttle brooklet 

(Translated from German — Das Bachlein by Karolina Rudolphi) 

Oh ! silvery brooklet bright and clear 
Forever on in haste you bear. 
Upon thy bank I muse to know 
From whence you come and whither go ! 

From dark and rocky rills untold, 
Oe'r flower and moss my course I hold. 
Upon my mirror hovers mild 
The deep-blue heaven's friendly smile. 

The will of Nature I obey, 
And follow where she marks my way : 
Her wooing calls me from the stone, 
And that, I trust, will lead me on. 

The University Magazine 157 

the first christmas 

It is very still. All is dark save where the low, flicker- 
ing firelight casts a fugitive, orange glow upon the figures 
of a few huddled shepherds, abiding in the fields by night. 
Formless masses in the dim outer gloom show where the 
sheep are resting. Beyond them is the pale, uncertain 
edge of the sky rim and the faint shine of lights from 
Bethlehem Town. Above vaults a space so vast, so va- 
cant, so void, that one lone star is almost lost in it. . . . 
And now suddenly the whole sky flushes with a refulgent, 
rosy glow. The vacant air above that seemed so empty is 
filled with a host of heavenly singers, chanting: "Glory 
to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward 
men." And now they vanish and all is hushed again. The 
rosy glow fades out. All is dark. A solitary sheep-bell 
tinkles. A lamb bleats tremulously, and then forgets its 
dream and sleeps again. The night wind rustles in the 
grasses. It is very still. 

— W. II. Stephenson. 


O ! Lord, why wasn't I a pigskin warrior and had cross- 
ed Virginia's goal line cheered on by thousands of lusty 
throats and feminine squeals ? 

O ! Lord, why can't I write stories for the University 
Magazine about small plaintive voices or stingy old 
farmers like the ones Alger told me of in kidhood ? Why 
can't I even write poetry about emerald, amethyst days or 
blue-skulled ambition ? 

And, ! Lord, why didn't you make me a heart-breaker 
—handsome, Arrow Collar Add-ish — and let me each day 

158 The University Magazine 

get from the postoffice vari-colored, perfumed letters, 
bringing me oceans of kisses ? Couldn't you have given 
me the soul of Nijinsky and let me glide like a swan, or 
fox trot ? 

You didn't do any of these things for me. 

I can't even sing in the Scrap Iron Quartette nor spread 
the saccharine philosophy of Pollyanna. I am not glad. 
The man that said, "It pays to advertise" had never seen 
me taking a shower bath. 

I am ashamed ! 

But I want to be great. And I am only a nearly de- 
structive creature — a literary critic. 

— Archibald Alexander. 


She's the one that sends you along the road whistling. 
Whistling the brightest and sweetest tune you know, the 
very best you can. After you've left her you smile at the 
folks you meet. 

She's a Christian ; one that works, but not a proud one. 
She depends upon God as her Father and Helper. She 
praises others for the worth while things they do. Still 
she's not content to let others take away her share in any 
good work. 

She's healthy, for she's learned to live right. 

She's a home lover and all that that means. She loves 
to make everyone happy, to have a beautiful home, to en- 
tertain, to have little children about her, to cook and sew 
if need be — and to have flowers in her flower beds. 

She's to be depended on. She hates to see a thing done 
just half way. When she promises to do a thing, she 
will do it her very best. 

She's truthful always. 

She's the kind that can forgive, if forgiveness is what's 

The University Magazine 159 

She's at liberty to vote on questions of public interest, 
when she feels that she can accomplish a good thing 

She's not extravagant. She loves pretty things, and 
has luxuries when she can afford them. She deserves 
everything she gets. 

She's more than sorry for the fellow in a "tight place," 
for she will try to help him out of it. She's no coward or 
quitter. She will sacrifice for others, and bear the little 
pains herself. 

She's the "give and take" sort ; one that meets you half 
way, and expects you to come the other half. She's un- 
affected. She expects you to confide in her. She can help 
you find the best way out. She respects your opinion and 
offers her own. She's interested in what a fellow's doing. 

She's learned the worth of work. She knows the satis- 
faction that comes with the "honest try." 

She's the one that smiles up into your face when you 
meet her. She's a good sport, and dearly loves a good 
time. She celebrates your triumphs with you, and keeps 
on smiling, and cheering you when things go all wrong. 
She sends you out with the glad light of hope in your eyes 
and an undying spirit of fight in your breast, determined 
to win all to make her happy. She'll make any man want 
to "be straight," and she'll keep him so. 

She's more than just pretty to me ; she's beautiful. To 
be with her is my greatest happiness; to please her and 
make her glad is my lasting joy. To kiss her, and claim 
her is my glad anticipation. To have her kiss me and love 
me, I pray, is her girlhood's dream. 

She's ideal. She's my girl — when I find her. 

— A. Dreamer. 

160 The Univeesity Magazine 

beoadeidge bobbeey 

Henry Broadridge conducted a small drygoods and no- 
tions store in a town of three hundred inhabitants. One 
morning when Henry came down to open his store he dis- 
covered that it had been entered during the night by burg- 
lars. This worried Henry greatly. The news of the rob- 
bery soon spread all over the town. Everyone was dis- 
cussing it, and crowds began to gather around Broad- 
ridge's store. 

Henry was asked by nearly every one in the village: 
"What did the robbers get ?" and "How much is the dam- 
age?" But he would make no statement. He was seated 
behind his home-made desk writing to the firm of whom he 
bought his goods to tell them that he would be unable to 
meet his note due next month, because his store had been 
robbed. He also sent word to his wife to have the children 
go barefooted and save their shoes, because his store had 
been robbed. 

This conduct on Henry's part stirred considerable emo- 
tion in the village. Many an infant was left crying in 
its cradle while its mother was down at Broadridge's store 
waiting to hear the proprietor's statement. 

Just as the sun was sinking into the west, the local mag- 
istrate and Henry were seen seated on a goods box, deep 
in discussion of law — from Blackstone to Hughes. At the 
end of their conversation Henry, being now fully apprised 
of his legal rights in the case, seemed to be willing to talk. 
He was approached by the local school master, who said : 

"Mr. Broadridge, what is your loss ?" 

"Well," said Henry, "it hain't so bad as it could ? er 
been. They only got a couple of hair pins, a jew's-harp, 
and three fishing hooks." 

— Daniel P. McKinnon. 

The University Magazine 161 

a trew and naturell docktryne of the poet, of poesy 

and the redye and proper way to the judging 

thereof as hath been lately set forth by 

the renowned, lerned, and honorable 

jerikickshua fuerovolus 

sporesciferonius * 

First, concerning the poet, which may be most readily 
described by reporting what he is not. He hath no rela- 
tion to epoch, race or environment. He is neither of the 
past, present, or future. For him there is neither law, 
freedom, precedent nor tradition. For him there is neither 
the tax-gatherer, the grocer, nor the house rent. He hath 
no fear for the arrow that flieth by noonday or the pesti- 
lence that walketh by night. He is not qualified by race, 
color or previous condition of servitude. He is subject 
to the limitations neither of time nor eternity. He is ex- 
plained neither historically, logically, nor biologically. He 
can be discerned neither analytically, synthetically, nor 
etymologically. In fact he is nothing but himself. In 
him we pass from the region of relationships to that of 
reality! But reality is self -consistent and self-dependent. 
Hence the poet is self-consistent and self-dependent. But 
reality is absolute. Hence the poet is absolute; whether 
he be absolute truth, absolute goodness, or absolute beauty 
it doth not yet appear. But if he were one of these he 
would appear. Hence he is a hypothetical synthesis of all 
these. In other wrods, he is a priori. 

Poesy, being only the poet expressed in concrete form, 
is equally as abstract. Hence poesy is not poesy, for poesy 
hath neither concreteness nor form. Furthermore, since 
there is no poesy but the poet, they are the same thing. 
But, since no two things can be the same thing at the same 
time, there can be no poesy except when there is no poet. 

* Extract from a sixteenth century pamphlet in the library of Corpus 
Christi College, Cambridge. Cf. Drablie, Disappearance and Relativity. 

162 The University Magazine 

If there is no poet, then the poet is an unreality. Since 
concreteness and form are also unrealities and there is 
nothing real except poesy, we are then driven to the con- 
clusion that two negatives make a positive, that is, the un- 
real expression of an unreality produces the reality, poesy. 
The aforesaid docktryne giveth us the trew and redye 
way to the proper judging of poesy. For it appeareth 
redily that since the poet passeth into the poesy, thereby 
becoming unreal, likewise poesy may pass into the critic, 
itself becoming unreal. Hence, since no two things can be 
the same thing at the same time, a fortiori, no three things 
can be the same thing at the same time, and there can be 
no critic except when there is no poet and no poesy. A 
fortiori a fortiori, by a further and more simple process of 
reasoning, there can be no criticism except when there is 
no poet, no poesy, and no critic. Hence easily appeareth 
the redye and easy way to the judging of poesy. 

— R. L. Lasley. 

The University Magazine 163 

grounb tfje MeU 


How many students who go to chapel do not kick at 
least once in a while because they are so compelled to be 
present? Who wants to go to Gerrard Hall when he 
has no 8 :30 or who would skip breakfast rather than miss 
all that is said and done there ? And, yet, I will venture 
to say that no one is so lacking in mental judgment that 
he does not value more highly the morning chapel exercise 
in Gerrard Hall, as a bureau of information if for no 
other reason, than being a minute or so late on his 9 :45. At 
least, one would naturally think that this would be the 
case. However, a glimpse into Gerrard Hall on any 
morning, when the 9 :45 bell is just beginning to ring, 
would easily convince a total stranger to "the Hill" that 
the students of the University of North Carolina are so 
deeply studious that they all wish to take up their books 
at the first clang of the bell in the South Building and 
leave for their class-rooms. I believe, and most of the stu- 
dent body will agree with me in my belief, that no such 
motive moves us nor that we are tired of listening to the 
speaker of any particular morning, for we treat them all 
alike, but that we have acquired the habit of picking up 
our hats, books, and feet, and leaving the Hall with the 
first tinkle of the 9 :45 bell. We merely don't think. 
Habit with us is stronger than thought, for, if we stopped 
to think, we would remain perfectly quiet until the speaker 
had concluded what he had to say or what he was finishing 
as the bell thus rudely awakened him to the fact that it 
was time to stop. We worry the speaker by our prompt 
and punctual actions, and certainly we can easily afford 
to cut off thirty seconds from the 9 :45 period without 
noticing it. Therefore, in the future, let us think, and 

164 The University Magazine 

give our attention to the speaker until he has concluded his 

-George Baech Lay. 


After such an event as that which happened last Thanks- 
giving we are certain that one phase of the Carolina spirit 
is that of unity. And yet there is room for much doubt. 
Naturally every community contains strata — social, moral, 
physical, and mental. A college campus is a community 
in every sense of the word, and the members thereof are 
by no means sufficient unto themselves. It is impossible 
that there should be no cliques. Man is a gregarious animal 
and seeks the most congenial companions. Whether those 
chosen companions be men, books, or the things of nature 
is undeniably his own business, but his clique, no matter 
how or for what purpose it has been formed, should not 
be an isolated desert island or an oasis, as the case may be, 
in a bustling sea of humanity. If he form no clique or 
belong to none he is in truth in an unfortunate predica- 
ment. He is then thrown on the community at large to 
search for the things among which he is at ease. In some 
cases the welcome is lacking in much that a self-respecting 
man desires. Many say that such social anchorites are 
following paths of their own choosing. But just how far 
are we correct in making this assertion ? If a man will- 
ingly shuns society he is, as Bacon says, either a wild beast 
or a god, and as either of the twain is not found at large 
in this community or any other, the type may be ignored. 
The other type is the man willing to be friendly with folks 
and somehow can not progress beyond a doubtful ac- 
quaintance with a few. There are such men — many of 
them. Some are in this class for one reason, some for 
another. In the hurly-burly of busy college life these men 
are sometimes overlooked. The plunging torrent of a 

The University Magazine 165 

twentieth century rush after learning finds them in a 
back water and leaves them so. 

But it is impossible to take our cliques wherever we go. 
At times we are compelled to wander aimlessly or objec- 
tively about, and at such times perforce we pass people. 
We may or may not know them, but it has long been a 
tradition at Carolina, and one of our best, that every man 
speaks to every man. At some colleges men have to be 
introduced before they dare greet each other. We are un- 
conventional in that respect. But the point is this. How 
do we greet the other chap ? Some men have a natural 
faculty for making every fellow they meet wonder how 
they get along without seeing each other every minute of 
the day. Others greet in a manner that sounds almost 
like an insult to every self-respecting man they meet. The 
campus undoubtedly has to have its quota of dignitaries, 
pillars of the college, who seem to be terrified at the 
thought of giving a cheerful grin to a fellow they do not 
know or do not like. If one does not know the other chap 
and displays a smile as part of his goods in stock the other 
chap may think himself extremely unlikely to be happy un- 
til a meeting is effected. In the case of the fellow not 
liked the grin and the greeting is quite likely to make him 
bemoan the fate that sometimes prevents two excellent 
men from getting along together. 

At all events it may be readily seen that greeting one's 
neighbor in the right way, and greeting him first— beating 
him to it, in a word — is not likely to hurt anyone and 
may help existence at this particular spot on the planet 
to be a great deal more endurable. One does not always 
have to peer over the neighbor's fence to squint at his 
family tree before he tells the neighbor good-morning. 

— Frank A. Clarvoe. 

166 The University Magazine 

all together for carolina 

Every two years, just before the meeting of the State 
Legislature and during the time it is in session, serious 
thinking men in the student body and out, are asking them- 
selves why it is that the University does not get a larger 
appropriation from the state. This is a question well 
worth thinking over. If we compare the University of 
North Carolina to the Universities in the other Southern 
States, we find that on the one hand it is the leader, while 
on the other hand it is sorely deficient. In the number 
of students, in the standard and the amount of work done 
inside college walls, and in the scope and standard of ser- 
vice rendered to the people of the state through its Ex- 
tension Bureau, the University of North Carolina is the 
leader in the South. But in a sufficient amount of money 
to keep up this standard of work it is lacking. When 
studied from either the working income as a whole, as from 
the per cent paid by the state on the thousand dollar's 
worth of taxable property in the state, we find that the 
University of North Carolina receives less than almost any 
other similar institution in the South. 

We all feel that the legislature should see the services 
the University is giving the state and be more liberal in 
its appropriations. But the legislature, made up as it is 
of men of all classes and professions, does not know the true 
conditions of the University. Nobody interested in the 
University, except the officials, has spoken for it, until 
the legislature has got the idea that it is in a sort of static 
stage ; and therefore it is slow to give an increase in appro- 
priations. I believe the student body should be very much 
interested in the University, and I want to suggest a plan 
by which the students can have a chance to make their 
interests felt. There are men here from every part of the 
state. These men should organize and bring their organ- 
ized pressure to bear on the present legislature. I should 

The University Magazine 167 

suggest that the men from each county organize county 
clubs. Where there are not men enough from one county 
to form a club, two or three counties can go together 
and organize clubs. The members of each club can then 
go to work to bring the University to the attention of the 
representatives from each county in the state. The differ- 
ent clubs can send letters and petitions to the legislature 
signed by all the men of the respective clubs, and in this 
way every student can make a direct demand of the state 
for a better paid University. I believe that if we can 
make the legislature see our needs it will help us. 

— J. L. Stuckey. 

168 The Univeesity Magazine 

is>fjoulb ®m ht ^llotpeti to ikber His Connection 
tottfj tfte ^octettes; at WiiW 


The most vexatious problem that has arisen in the 
literary societies within my memory is the problem of 
what to do with those members who, after one or two 
years' membership, lose interest in the society work and 
desire to give it up. My earliest recollections of any gen- 
eral discussion in the Phi Society is of a heated debate 
over the question of whether sophomores who desired it 
should be placed on the inactive list. And I remember 
that, during the first period of my membership in the so- 
ciety, that was the question most often discussed. When I 
became a member of the society again, I found that, not 
only had that question not been settled satisfactorily, but 
that, in the meantime, the constitution had been changed 
so as to prevent juniors from becoming inactive members, 
and that now there was an almost weekly debate over the 
question of what to do with sophomores and juniors who 
took no interest in the society work. 

This problem the society has from time to time at- 
tempted to solve in a number of different ways. One of 
the plans adopted was to allow certain whole classes of 
members to get on the inactive list. But this plan was 
never satisfactory to the remainder of the society because 
there were always some of these other members who felt 
that they had just as good reasons for getting on the in- 
active list as members of the favored class; and it was 
never wholly satisfactory even to the members of this 
favored class because they still had to pay their society 
dues during the remainder of their four years in college, 
although receiving no adequate returns from the society. 
Recently the society has adopted the plan of allowing any 
member to become inactive provided he can satisfy a com- 

The Univeesity Magazine 169 

mittee that he has satisfactory reasons for desiring inac- 
tive membership. This is undoubtedly a step in the right 
direction, but this, too, is open to the objection that in- 
active members, whether they are willing or not, and 
whether they receive adequate returns for their money or 
not, are obliged to continue paying their dues. 

But no matter what minor objections there may be to 
any of the plans tried, they are all open to the fundamental 
objection that the society has failed to recognize the 
right of any member of a secret organization to withdraw 
entirely from that organization whenever he feels him- 
self out of harmony with it. 

Much time has been wasted by the society in discussing 
whether or not any member could be kept on the active 
list against his will with profit to himself. Much time 
has been wasted over the question of whether the society 
would be seriously injured by allowing those who desired 
it to become inactive members. But strange as it may 
seem, in all these discussions there has been a conscious 
or unconscious effort to evade the really vital point in 
the problem, with the inevitable result that all the plans 
adopted have been only temporary and half-effective meas- 

Allowing a class of members, or certain individuals 
from all classes, to get on the inactive list is only a half- 
way measure, for it neither admits the right of members 
to withdraw entirely from the society, nor maintains the 
doctrine that members who are kept in the society against 
their will can be benefitted. And, as a half-way measure, 
such a plan can never be wholly satisfactory. Until the 
problem is settled properly it cannot be settled perma- 
nently ; and in order to settle it once and for all, the society 
must give the right answer to this question : Has any secret 
organization the right to refuse to allow its members to 
withdraw entirely at will ? 

170 The Univeesity Magazine 

It is time that the society is no longer a secret organiza- 
tion. But it abolished secrecy so recently that all of its 
present members joined when it was a secret organization. 
This means that the circumstances under which they joined 
were such that they did not know and could not know that, 
in joining, they were being bound to four years' mem- 
bership; and it is therefore pertinent to inquire, with 
respect to these members, whether the society has a moral 
right to compel them to maintain their membership. 

It is a principle recognized by all fraternal organiza- 
tions and secret societies of every kind composed of adult 
members that since a person who joins such an organiza- 
tion must join in ignorance of what his duties and obliga- 
tions will be, he shall be free to exercise his right to ter- 
minate his membership if he finds that he cannot conscien- 
tiously discharge the obligations which he assumed on join- 
ing; or if he finds, when he becomes more thoroughly fa- 
miliar with the purposes of the organization, that he is not 
in sympathy with them. This principle is so vital to the 
life of ordinary secret societies that it is extremely doubt- 
ful whether any one of them could long exist if it denied 
to its members the right to withdraw whenever they felt so 

This right is based on such sound and simple common 
sense that, no matter whether applied to organizations for 
adults in the ordinary walks of life or to student organiza- 
tions at the University, it would seem necessary only to 
state it in order to secure its recognition. Perhaps, though, 
it will not be amiss to test it in a concrete case. 

Suppose there is formed here at the University a secret 
society, the avowed purpose of which is to promote the 
moral development of its members. John Smith is inter- 
ested in his own moral growth, and, so, without knowing 
just what is going to be required of him, he joins the 
society, trusting in the fairness of the other members to 

The University Magazine 171 

give him a square deal. After he is initiated he finds that 
the rules of the society require him to attend church ser- 
vices twice every Sunday. He does this for a while, but 
finally gets tired of going to church so often and wants to 
withdraw from the society. And then he finds that he 
society will not allow him to withdraw, and that the only 
way he can get out is to refuse to pay his dues or commit 
some other offense which will make the society expel him ! 
Who is there who will not say that since John Smith did 
not know that he would be required to go to church twice 
every Sunday he has a right to withdraw from that society 
whenever he gets tired of going to church? And who is 
there who does not know that if John Smith is compelled 
to maintain his membership in the society and pay his fines 
regularly for not going to church, he is submitting to a 
kind of tyranny — a kind to which he will not submit once 
he leaves college and begins the life of a man of the world ? 

This case is analagous to that of the society. A fresh- 
man comes to the University, interested in everything that 
promotes his development, and is visited before long by the 
membership committee of the society, who point out to him 
the wonderful opportunities which the society offers for 
training in debate. He thinks he wants to learn to debate, 
and, so, without knowing just what is going to be required 
of him, and with absolutely no idea that he is binding 
himself for four years' membership, he joins the society. 
He is interested enough in its work for a while, but after 
a year or so he becomes interested in chemistry. Then he 
comes to the conclusion that he can't speak, and doesn't 
want to learn to speak, anyhow; and, consequently, he 
wants to get out of the society. And then, lo and behold ! 
he finds that the only way he can get out is to be expelled ! 

The literary society is one of the most worth-while in- 
stitutions within the University. Every student here 
would be benefited by it if he could and would interest 

172 The University Magazine 

himself in its work, and it makes no unreasonable de- 
mands on those who are interested. But at the same time 
the fact remains that however helpful the society may be to 
its members, however reasonable its may be in its require- 
ments for work, any member who has joined in ignorance 
of the regulations of the society has a right to get out of 
it honorably when he finds that he is no longer interested 
in its work. 

This applies, of course, only to those members who 
joined before the society abolished secrecy. ~No such right 
can be claimed by those who may hereafter join the society 
as long as its constitution remains as it is; for these per- 
sons will be entering into an express agreement with the 
society for four years' membership, and the society will 
have a moral right to hold them to that agreement. 

It is not always best, however, for an organization to 
exercise its rights. Indeed, it may sometimes exercise its 
rights to its own serious injury. And since we are con- 
sidering the whole question as to whether members of the 
society should be allowed to withdraw at will, it may be 
well for us to inquire whether it would not be best for 
the society to give up voluntarily any rights that it may 
now have in the matter, and change its constitution so as 
to embody in it the permanent policy of allowing any 
member to terminate his membership at will. 

One of the principal reasons assigned by those who 
favor keeping every member in the society for the full 
four years is that it is for the best interests of the member 
himself. And they base their argument on the theory 
that even if he is not interested in debating or parliament- 
ary usages, even if he feels that he will never have any 
need for a knowledge of either, the society can, by com- 
pelling him to maintain his membership, give him such 
training in speaking and such knowledge of the proper 

The University Magazine 173 

conduct of deliberative bodies as will be of permanent 
value to him. 

This is exactly the theory that is advanced in support 
of their position by those educators who still favor forcing 
all high school students to take Latin. That this theory 
has been so nearly abandoned that it now has only a very 
few adherents among first-rate teachers is pretty good 
evidence that the theory is fundamentally wrong. And 
it is just as wrong when applied to debating as to Latin. 
It is no more possible for the society to make a debater 
or an orator of a member who is not interested in debating 
and oratory than it is for a teacher to make a Latin scholar 
of a boy who is not interested in Latin. 

It cannot be done, and it has not been done. Much 
time might be spent discussing the theory, but the results 
speak for themselves. E"o matter how hard the society 
may have striven to make itself valuable to all its mem- 
bers, it has failed with regard to those who were not in- 
terested, and an examination of the records will show 
that this is true. And the society is failing in that respect 
now as signally as ever. Those members who are kept in 
the society, or on the active list against their will may 
need ever so much the training which the society offers, 
and yet the society meetings, the debates, the records, the 
testimony of the members themselves, all show beyond 
dispute that the society is failing to give such members 
anything of value. It is failing not because it is not doing 
its best, but because it is trying to do the impossible ; and 
as long as it continues to try to help those who do not 
want to be helped, its efforts must meet with failure. 

But since these members pay their regular dues and 
their almost regular fines, there have been those who were 
opposed to letting them withdraw because, as they say, the 
society needs their money. However, keeping an unwil- 
ling member in the society merely in order that the treas- 

174 The University Magazine 

ury may profit by his mistake in ever joining, is so much 
like bare-faced robbery that the suggestion would hardly 
have been made seriously if its true nature had been un- 

Another reason urged against allowing members to 
withdraw at will is that if this were permitted so many 
members would withdraw that the society would be broken 
up. But even this objection, serious as it may seem on 
the surface, is based on a misconception of the function 
of such an organization as a debating society, and a fail- 
ure to realize the present need for such an organization 
within the University. 

Any institution or organization has a right to existence 
only as it is an expression of the needs of some class of 
people. And any institution or organization which does 
serve as the instrument for the realization of the desires 
of some class does not need to protect itself by arbitrary 
and artificial means against death. 

The existence of the department of chemistry, for ex- 
ample, is justified only by the fact there is a vital need 
nowadays for men with a knowledge of chemistry, and 
the further fact that students with a desire to learn chem- 
istry come to the University. If the time ever comes 
when men will not need to know chemistry, or when stu- 
dents who want to learn chemistry stop coming to the 
University, then that department ought to cease to exist, 
and any effort by the University to prolong its exis- 
tence would be made only at the expense of the Univer- 
sity and the students affected. But chemists are needed; 
students do come to the University with a desire to learn 
chemistry; and it is, therefore, entirely unnecessary to 
use artificial means to make the department survive. 

Just so it is with the literary society. The existence 
of a literary society at the University is justified only by 
a living need for such an organization. If there never was 

The University Magazine 175 

such a need, or if such a need, although once existing, no 
longer exists, the society ought to be allowed to die. On 
the other hand, if there is a demand nowadays for men 
with the ability to express themselves well in public and 
for men with the ability to run deliberative bodies, and 
students who desire to learn these things still come to the 
University, there need be absolutely no fear that these 
students will not find the society the proper instrument 
for the realization of their desires. And thus the society 
will be perpetuated by those who have a need for it, re- 
gardless of whether any others are members. 

That such a need does exist, and that the society will 
be perpetuated because of this need cannot be doubted by 
anyone who has an opportunity to observe the working of 
the society and the interest in its work displayed by a big 
proportion of its members. Just a few days ago a fresh- 
man stated that he would not have come to the University 
unless he had known that he could join the debating so- 
ciety. And there are scores of such students in the high 
schools all over the State who recognize in the two 
literary societies of the University the instruments for 
the realization of their desires to learn to speak. These 
are the students to whom it makes no difference whether 
membership in a literary society is compulsory or not, and 
no difference whether or not after once joining they can 
ever withdraw. These are the students who will join 
without being persuaded, and will voluntarily maintain 
their membership as long as they can. And these will be 
the members who will combine to keep the society alive. 

To one who will study the situation it will be evident that 
the society will be able to accomplish the most satisfactory 
results only when its membership consists solely of those 
who recognize in the society an opportunity to get some- 
thing they want. This being true, those who, in their 
excess of zeal for the welfare of the society and their fel- 

176 The University Magazine 

low members, would deny to any member, no matter how 
uninterested he may be, the privilege of withdrawing, 
have really been doing a vast amount of harm to both 
these members and the society as a whole. 

In my opinion nearly every problem of any consequence 
that the society has had to deal with has been due directly 
to this policy of enforced four-year membership. The 
large number of absences from meetings, the fact that 
sometimes more than half the members on the program are 
absent, the occasional lack of order, the total lack of in- 
terest so often apparent on the part of some members — 
all these things are in the main chargeable to those mem- 
bers of the society who have only one wish with respect to 
the society ; namely, to get out of it. These problems can 
be solved in but one way. That way is the easy way, the 
sensible way of allowing uninterested members to with- 
draw just as soon as they realize that they are out of 
harmony with the purposes for which the society exists. 

The society still has a big part to play in the life of 
the University and the life of the State; and so long as 
the State remains in essence what it is and the University 
remains what it is, the society must live and perform its 
work. But in order to do fully what it is called on to do, 
it must throw off every shackle, and rid itself of every 
handicap. If fears spring up they must be dispelled. 
If traditions interfere they must be broken. If a miscon- 
ception of its own function exists, it must inform itself 
of its own purpose and its right to live. If the society, 
then, would realize its mission in a larger degree, if it 
would enter into the real life of a free institution, let it 
take that first necessary step of embodying in its constitu- 
tion a permanent guarantee that the right to withdraw at 
pleasure from the society shall never be denied to any 

The University Magazine 177 


The Trinity Archive is one of the best magazines which 
comes to our desk. Both the material and its arrangement 
are exceptionally good. The Alumni Department is an 
interesting feature, and all of our college magazines, 
where there is no alumni organ, would do well to develop 
the possibility it contains. 

The story entitled, "The Man and the Woman," might 
more accurately be termed "His New Vision of Art," or 
"The Invitation." The writer builds an attractive love 
story upon a background of conflicting conceptions which 
finally drive the man and woman to separation. During 
the separation each realizes the position of the other; 
and the picture the artist paints when he awakes to this 
realization is the prelude to the reconcilement and reunion 
which follows. The story is exceedingly well written. 
The writer has something to say, and says it effectively. 

"Stolen Treasure" is a tedious attempt to prolong an 
affected incident into a magazine story. It is conceivable 
to a far-fetched imagination that an exceedingly tender- 
hearted individual, by a stretch of sentimentality, might 
take the trouble to seal a dead canary in a tin coffin and go 
on a long journey to give it a home under the sod; and 
such a person might act in a manner attributed to him by 
the writer of the incident. But the incident is exagger- 
ated. The moral of the story seems to be of the "don't 
count your chickens before they are hatched" sort. The 
technique is better than the content. The writer, however, 
shows ability. 

The fact that "War and Its Aftermath" won the State 
peace contest, and came near winning in the South At- 
lantic contest, is sufficient testimony to its merit, and 

178 The University Magazine 

eliminates the necessity for any extended criticism here. 
It is a splendid oration. 

The writer of "An Apology for Lovers'' seems to be 
well acquainted with the stages through which lovers pass. 
Eealizing my incompetence to criticize the content of this 
story I called to my aid men whom I reasonably supposed 
could render intelligent opinions, and their invariable com- 
ment was that the writer knew what he was writing about. 
There is a touch of fervor, of sincerity in the story which 
implies that the author has had tragic experiences. The 
subject of the article, "An Apology for Lovers/' is well 
chosen and sometimes seems necessary. 

The author says that "the wink of an eye, the dimple 
of a smile, the playing of hands, and the touching of lips 
. . . . are vain and sickening frivolities to some." 
The emphasis placed upon "some" by the context implies 
that to him they mean more than that. The "teaser . . . 
is a thorn in his flesh." The first stage through which the 
lover must pass is the "puppy-love" stage, which begins 
with an alluring smile or a meaning wink. It ordinarily 
lasts for a few months and then dies a naturally expected 
death. Next, the youth becomes a sport. If he lives in 
the country "dad's best horse and buggy must be always 
at his disposal — that he may court the girls," for without 
an opportunity to "traverse the rural highways with his 
girl on Saturday evenings and Sundays, life would be un- 
bearable. If he is a town sport, his love-making assumes 
the form of "chain-gang socks, rainbow ties, and form- 
fitting clothes." He "takes his father's car and wins with 
it many admirers — of the car." The soda "fountain and 
ice cream parlor" form a background for his activities. 
The final stage of love is in the "joys of happy married 
life." The emphasis on "happy" is rather suspicious. 
Things become monotonous until the coming of "Mary 
and Johnny lends a new significance to life." The story 

The University Magazine 179 

is well written and very interesting. It furnishes instruc- 
tion to the novice and amusement to the veteran. 

"The Derelict" is the title of an admirable story of a 
man who refuses to be bound by custom, who breaks away 
from its clutch and leads his life in his own way, and 
achieves distinction by doing so. The freshness and vigor 
of its presentation add to the charm of the story. 

The editorials are exceptionally good. They are point- 
ed and effective. 

We are glad to add to our exchange list the following 
publications: The Georgian, The Chimes, The Roanoke 
Collegian, The Yellow Jacket, The Student, from Ports- 
mouth High School, The Richmond College Messenger, 
The Clem son Chronicle, The Columbia University Quar- 
terly, The Oxonian, The College Message, of Greensboro 
-College for Women, and William and Mary Literary 

If Clothes is the Question, 
Ours is the Answer 

For young men of discriminating 
taste there are none that satisfy like 
Society Brand and Hart Schaffner 
& Marx Clothes. 

Prices, $:0to $40 


Why not Give Her 
Monogram Stationery 
This Christmas? 



University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 No. 4 New Series Vol. 34 



Editorial Comment 184 

At Waikiki Robert C. de Rosset 186 

Sienkiewicz Paul Green 192 

Education in Japan Kameichi Kato 193 

An Evening Call in 1950 (a Play) 

Harris Co pen haver 198 

The Picture A. M. Lindau 204 

A Bundle oe War Letters 205 

Uncle Reuben's Reminiscuses N. A. Reasoner 212 

Only Hear? C. G. Tennent 216 

What Time Is It? T. E. Rondthaler 217 

Old Tom /. M. Gibson 221 

Sketches 224 

Around the Well 230 

Exchanges 235 


University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Editor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. STEELE, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau 
Frank ClarvoE 

Albert Oettinger 
A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 

William York, Dialectic 

The University oe North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

MARCH, 1917 
Old Series Vol. 47 No. 4 New Series Vol. 34 

J^tgfjt anb jfflornmg 

(DECEMBER 22, 1916) 

Night sobbed like a tired child; the dead leaves 

Listless 'neath the pelting of the rain; the fog 
Drifted here and there or clung to the damp 

Of trees and flowers. No wind stirred, no night 

Of owl or bird, no human sound, — only the drip 
Of wet from leaves and trees, monotonous grief 
That answered the dull pain within our hearts. 
And so she tarried, through the night. 

But at dawn the great winds rose and swept the 

night away, 
And all the fog and rain, bent low the trees, 
Drove, remorseless, armies of dead leaves 
Before them, and rushed shouting toward the 

sun in the clear sky. 
And as they passed they bore her soul on giant 


184 The University Magazine 

Cbttortal Comment 


You have proved yourself in scholarship, at least during 
the first lap of your college period. But don't be puffed 
up or self-satisfied. Rather let a good beginning be an 
inspiration to attempt greater and more difficult tasks, 
and yours will be a class whose achievements will be sec- 
ond to no other body of graduates the University has 
ever turned loose on society. Make scholarship your pri- 
mary ideal, but not your limit. Seek a broader field. The 
different athletic teams, the societies, the dramatic and 
glee clubs and the publications are all offering you an 
opportunity for development. 

You are not supposed to be a finished product in any of 
these lines of college activities. The upper-classmen rea- 
lize this, and all are ready to give you sympathetic en- 
couragement and advice. Don't delay until your Sopho- 
more year. Discard your stage fright, if you have any, 
and make a start in some direction. 

The manager of the track team says he wants ten men 
to try for each event in that branch of sports alone. Isn't 
he modest ? Oh, no ; he is only a forerunner of what should 
be the new Carolina spirit, and he wants you to help him 
make it possible. 

The Tar Heel and Magazine want your jokes, sketches, 
poems and other literary efforts. In fact, the next num- 
ber of the Magazine will be given over to your class if you 
will submit the necessary material. Of course if you 
don't come across with the goods, we will face the neces- 
city of filling out the space with articles written by mem- 

The Univeksity Magazine 185 

bers of the other classes. Talk it over with your fellow- 
classmen and let us see if we can't make a Freshman num- 
ber. There are several prizes that will be given for the 
best article in the different departments. You can get 
information about them from any member of the editorial 
staff by inquiry. But keep remembering that even though 
you fail to get a prize, no man can fail who does his best. 

186 The University Magazine 

at OTatfufet 


Henry Harvard gave a lunge forward, seized the emer- 
gency lever and reared back with it. The big Lozier came 
to a sudden stop. 

"By George ! Graham, did you see that V 9 he asked. 

"Wasn't she a peach ?" was the enthusiastic reply. 

"The same type that you read about exactly. Dark hair, 
and eyes, and that face — . Don't believe I ever saw a pret- 
tier figure either. Where did she go ?" 

"Into that department store yonder. Let's wait." 

The enthusiasm of the two American boys would allow 
them to pay no attention to the small native policeman who 
was wildly gesticulating and uttering incoherent sounds 
at their side. Graham was the first to comprehend his 
significance and reminded Henry of the fact that traffic 
was being held up on the street for two blocks. With all 
speed and little attention to the guardian of Honolulu's 
laws, Henry piloted the car into the curbing. 

Henry Harvard was the only son of Eli Harvard, the 
famous magnate of the Harvard System, whose railroads 
were standard throughout the Middle West. He was a very 
likable sort of fellow, typically American, but lacking in 
that utter disregard for money and in that absence of 
brains which characterizes so many of the younger gen- 
eration of the excessively rich of the United States. His 
four years at Stanford had been most profitable and upon 
receiving his diploma, he began a long promised trip to 
the Hawaiian Islands, accompanied by his roommate 
of three years, Graham Gordon, of Virginia. They were 
two straightforward young Americans, each with his hopes 
and his ambitions, but with that one failing that is natural 
with all young men of all ages — the habit of falling in 
love with every beautiful young lady that they should 

The Univeksity Magazine 187 

chance to meet. Sometimes the depths of their acquaint- 
ances would simply extend to that degree known as casual, 
but at other times, though in most cases it was altogether 
"one-sided," the "casual acquaintance" would ripen into a 
secretly cherished "love," which would only need some 
little thing as a slight misunderstanding, to upset its whole 

For several minutes the two boys had been waiting pa- 
tiently for the reappearance of the little Hawaiian beauty 
and they were on the point of going back to their hotel, 
when she sallied forth in all of her beauty. Her Fifth 
Avenue clothes became her wonderfully ; indeed they seem- 
ed to augment the attractiveness of her small face to no 
little degree. She was of a type totally different from 
anything that Harvard had ever seen. She did not have 
the appearance of a stage favorite in the least, but had 
more of that beauty which the newspapers tell us Hawaii 
is famous for. She was faultlessly dressed in latest Fifth 
Avenue style. 

Harvard shoved his gears in "low" and waited for the 
big limousine, in which she was shopping, to glide by. He 
quickly followed her car through the semi-deserted streets, 
and out of town, into a beautiful suburb. Homes of all 
sorts were there, mostly American, but the higher class of 
rich natives were also well represented. 

She disappeared into a big mansion, standing boldly up- 
on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. The waves were gently 
lapping the shores, and a soft warm breeze came from the 
east. For miles the beach stretched out below them in a 
semi-circle. Here and there small knots of people were 
gathered, probably around some native fakir or fruit-seller. 
The white flannel trousers and sport coats of the people 
composing these knots, bespoke them tourists. To the 
left, a group of native youth were revelling in the surf. 
Here and there a flash could be seen as the end of a surf- 

188 The University Magazine 

board would cut the breaking waves and the sun would 
flash from the flying spray. Everywhere there was joy 
and every one seemed contented. This was the famous 
beach at Waikiki. 

It was fully two long minutes before Henry could re- 
move his gaze from that imposing doorway, through which 
the queen of his dreams had disappeared. Slowly he turn- 
ed his head, until he was staring straight at the con- 
gregated tourists below him. He sighed. "Gee !" he broke 
out suddenly, "this is some swell place, isn't it ? What do 
you say to coming out here for a little stay? That big 
building there is the hotel, I suppose." 

"Undoubtedly," his chum responded. "I'm on for any- 
thing once. Let's try it. We will probably meet a few 
people we have heard of here." 

So it was decided, and that afternoon the two boys 
moved all of their belongings to the Hotel Hawaii at 

"I think it's a great move we made, coming here," said 
Henry while the two were dressing for dinner. "It's lucky 
we brought along our full dress outfit; this seems to be 
quite a swell place. I understand there is to be a big dance 
tonight. Who would have thought we would have run into 
anything like this !" 

About eight-thirty, the orchestra began playing in the 
dining room, and one by one the people lounging in the 
lobby moved in to dance. Visitors were arriving from 
houses nearby, and it bid fair to be a red letter day in the 
trip of Harvard and Gordon. 

Suddenly Harvard was on his feet looking at the latest 
arrival. Yes, he was right, it was his elusive friend of 
the morning, even more beautiful in the gorgeous gown of 
evening. At her appearance on the threshold, a goodly 
part of the native male contingent were around her. Har- 

The University Magazine 189 

vard looked on with envious eves. If he could only get 
an introduction. 

He knew only one person in the room and that was Gor- 
don. What was he going to do ? He'd follow her around 
and hope for her to drop her fan or handkerchief or some- 

As a little lamb he followed his mistress, until he began 
to realize that he was causing a large amount of head- 
wagging and gossip among the patronesses. He was about 
to give it all up, when she went out of the room, with a 
gesticulating young Hawaiian on each arm. Through the 
front door and upon the beach they went. 

The moon was just rising above the horizon, casting an 
endless path upon the calm sea. Harvard could not resist 
the temptation to follow further. 

The three natives were joined by others and the whole 
group seated themselves upon the sand. Harvard also sat 
down at a distance. 

Of a sudden, the peaceful air was broken by a series of 
excellently executed chords upon a guitar. The several 
ukeleles soon joined it and with the sweet voices of the 
natives, made what Harvard had always held as his "para- 

High above the male voices could be heard her voice. 
Harvard knew it. And as they continued, the young Am- 
erican could not withstand the compelling force within 
him. He suffered tortures throughout each of those soft, 
plaintive notes. It was fascinating, and with each note 
Harvard was getting deeper and deeper in love. He was 
at last forced to go back into the hotel. He knew that it 
would be torture for him to stay and listen and not to be 
able to speak to her. O ! what he could have told her, had 
he and she been alone. 

He hurried to his room and went to bed. For hours, it 
seemed, he could hear only that beautiful voice. He could 

190 The University Magazine 

see only that tropical moon, full, and in all its splendor, 
and the drooping palms, and hear the soft pulsing of the 
surf. In the midst of all the beautiful things, he could 
see only her. 

It was about noon of the next day and Harvard, having 
tired of his book, was strolling down the beach. Just in 
front of him was a very pretty open parasol, shading some 
one from the sun's rays. 

He approached in an exceedingly adventurous spirit. 
As he was about to look around it, he caught sight of a 
fluffy little ladies' handkerchief, being wafted away by 
the wind. With a bound he was after it, and after a very 
hard chase, he had the little piece of finery safe in his 
hand. As he turned to bring the handkerchief back to its 
owner, his lower jaw dropped and he stopped in his tracks. 
Could it be so ? Yes ! It was undoubtedly the girl that 
had been his only thought for the last twenty-four hours. 

With a bow he returned the handkerchief. 

"Won't you sit down ?" she asked in perfect English. 

"Thank you," he replied, after seeing that the extreme- 
ly old man beside her was asleep. 

"My father," she volunteered. 

Harvard breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he could 
not have stood the shock of that old fellow being her hus- 

The next fifteen minutes were the fulfillment of all of 
Harvard's dreams of contentment. He found that she 
had been in the United States to school for eight years — 
"ever since I can remember" she put it. He found out 
lots of interesting things and in exchange, gave bits of in- 
formation about himself. 

A sand-dune lay at their right. No particular attention 
had been paid it before, now Harvard began to hear 
sounds of an approaching person, and immediately a hand- 
some young Hawaiian stepped around the corner. In an 

The University Magazine 191 

instant the little native creature was upon her feet. She 
rushed forward and threw her arms about the Hawaiian's 
neck and kissed him fervently. Taking his hand she led 
him over to the astonished Harvard. 

"Mr. Harvard, allow me to present my husband, Mr. 

By Harvard's stunned mind, no words could be found 
for his part of the introductory ceremony. Thougths, 
good and bad, were being jumbled within him. Finally 
after a great deal of internal conflict, his young American 
mind gave vent to all of its suppressed feelings in the one 
word— "Damn !" 

The sleeping father awoke. 

192 The University Magazine 


Poland, cease not to guard thy sacred fires ; 

Thou must he watchful in thy travail-hour. 
Mad friends have slain the bravest of thy sires, 

And left thee to grim want, the war-god's power. 

How fearless was the pen that moved for thee ; 

The arm that strove to break thy galling chain — 
What, canst thy rage in bounds of reason be? — 

Thou knowest that such a friend comes not again. 

What seer will now read thee the flashing sky ? 

From his high tower interpret each false light ? 
Will say, "All's well" when thou in fear wouldst cry 

With anxious voice, "Watchman, what of the night ?" 

Rejoice that through his death a wondrous birth 
Hatch loosed a mighty voice upon the earth. 

The University Magazine 193 

€bucatton m Japan 


Japan's progress in the last half a century seems to have 
been a marvel to the outsiders, because they generally 
think that she has sprung up to the present stage of civili- 
zation from a semi-barbarous stage. True, it has been 
comparatively a short time since she began to introduce 
western civilization, but the beginning of her learning 
goes back to the third century when Chinese classics were 
first brought into the country. Since then the rulers of 
every generation have taken a deep interest in education. 
Chinese and Corean scholars have been invited to teach, 
and many natives have gone to those countries to study. 
Gradually there has grown in connection with the Im- 
perial government a system of education which differs 
widely from its prototypes. It was the beginning of the 
Japanization of foreign thought. The "Ordinance Re- 
lating to Education'' was issued in 701, which effected the 
establishment of a university and national schools. It 
may be remembered that this antedated Oxford Univer- 
sity by one hundred and seventy-one years, and St. Peter's 
College, the first at Cambridge, by five hundred and fifty- 
six years. But fortunately the life of the Japanese 
university was of limited duration. 

There were more or less interruptions to the progress 
of learning in the subsequent years, during which civil 
strifes were an everyday thing. But when peace was re- 
stored under Tokugawa Shogunate the matter of education 
began to attract the attention of the ruling classes. Schools 
were established in many places for children of the Sa- 
murai class, the dominant caste of the time. The modern 
idea of educational democracy, however, did not occur to 
the Japanese mind until she came into contact with the 

194 The Univeesity Magazine 

The first thing to which the builders of the new Japan 
turned their attention was the organization of an educa- 
tional system upon the Western basis. Mr. William El- 
liot Griffis, a well known American writer on Japan and 
the Japanese, was one of the American pioneers in the 
Japanese educational field. He was invited to establish a 
school of science and languages in 1867 and he saw the 
relics of the feudal age. In 1871 the Department of Edu- 
cation was organized and made equal in importance to the 
other departments of the government. With the "Code of 
Education" which was formulated in 1872, the modern ed- 
ucation was begun. This code was modelled after the 
French system of well defined school districts. But it was 
soon found to be impracticable, and was abolished a few 
years later. Professor Scott, an American, was called in 
1872. He was made the principal teacher for the Normal 
School which was just established. Another American, 
Mr. David Murray, was appointed to be the superintend- 
ent of schools, and he was responsible for the formulation 
of many laws relating to education. 

From the beginning it was provided that the elementary 
schools should be established and maintained by the vil- 
lages and the municipalities, and the schools of the middle 
grade by the prefectures. The higher institutions were 
put under the direct supervision of the national govern- 
ment. As soon as the local circumstances would justify, 
the schools were erected and where old style schools 
existed they were reorganized. The elementary education 
has gradually spread among all classes of the people. The 
period of about ten years immediately following the in- 
auguration of the new educational system may properly be 
called a period of translation. Almost every thing from 
educational codes to the textbooks were a direct transla- 
tion. The curricula were poorly arranged. In one of the 
textbooks which was used very widely as the first reader, 

The University Magazine 195 

your attention would be called to the first page. It had an 
atsronomical chart and the text began with these words: 
"The earth is one of the planets around the sun, . . ." 
It is certain that the pupils did not understand what it 
meant. The teacher read clause by clause aloud as if he 
were singing, and the pupils repeated together still louder. 
You could hear the reading from far away. They learned 
such a book by heart, but of course the meaning was beyond 
their understanding. They also put much stress upon the 
penmanship. A pupil who could write a good hand was 
the pride of his or her parents. 

As the years have gone by the number of the pupils has 
steadily increased and accordingly the number of the 
schools has multiplied. In 1900 a new law relating to 
the elementary education was enacted. It may fairly be 
said that the Japanese elementary education has entered 
into a new era since that time. This law included the 
regulations for the administration, the curriculum, the 
school building, the examinations, the salaries, and pen- 
sion system for the teachers, and many other things. It 
prescribed in detail how the school houses should be built. 
It required that the school house should have a certain 
number of windows at the east and south sides and it 
should have corridors wide and long enough to give suffi- 
cient room for all the children to play during the recess in 
the rainy days. The law also required every school to have 
a certain area of play-ground per pupil. But the most 
important feature of this law was that it made the ele- 
mentary education compulsory. It provided for the pun- 
ishment of those parents who refused to send their chil- 
dren to school, and the employers who hired children of 
school age without giving them time to attend school. It 
also provided that in the case poor parents who could not 
afford to send their children, the community should pro- 
vide for their schooling. The compulsory education was 

196 The University Magazine 

set for four years, but it was lengthened to six years in 

According to the statistics of 1911 there were over eight 
million four hundred thousand children of whom 98.2 
per cent had registered. The same statistics show one in- 
teresting fact, that is, the percentage of the children who 
attend schools in the rural districts is greater than that 
in the urban districts. The percentage in the cities is 97 ; 
that in the towns is 98.3 ; while that in the villages is 98.3. 
One would naturally expect the contrary, but this may be 
explained by the fact that in the great cities there are 
always some slum quarters where the police or municipal 
authorities seldom can effectively penetrate. 

The progress has not only been in the quantity, but in 
the quality we have seen still a greater change. Next 
textbooks have come out in a very few years with some 
improvements. The direct translation of American or 
German textbooks has disappeared. 

There is no practical difference in the curricula of the 
elementary and high schools in the United States and 
those in Japan, except in the languages. But one thing 
may be said of Japan that in high school the boys and 
the girls are not taught in the same school. In the girls' 
high school the study of domestic science is emphasized. 

In all grades of education the Japanese boys and girls 
are heavily burdened with the numerous Chinese char- 
acters. A few decades ago in the elementary schools about 
three thousand characters were taught. A man laying claim 
to scholarship must know eight or ten thousand of them. 
This has been a great problem. It was not so much of a 
nuisance when the learning meant simply to be able to 
read Chinese classics and to write worded letters, but in 
this modern age of science and commercial rivalry, we 
cannot afford to spend all of our youth in learning the 
mere symbols. The educational code of 1900 limited the 

The University Magazine 197 

number of the characters taught in the primary schools to 
a few hundred, but it only brought a confusion and in- 
convenience. Some time ago a report was circulated to 
the effect that Japan had adopted the Roman alphabet as 
her national letters. Indeed such has been said many 
times and it would be a great blessing if such could be 
done so easily. The Chinese letters have become so inter- 
woven with the life of the people that it can hardly be ex- 
pected they will change the form of writing in the near 
future. There is another thing which has been an extra 
burden to them. That is the difference between the writ- 
ten and the conversational languages. Fortunately, how- 
ever, with the rise of what may be called the journalistic 
literature, the difference has nearly disappeared. 

Japan has attained such an educational democracy that 
every child, irrespective of his or her parents' social stand- 
ing, has the same opportunity for learning. But the increase 
in th6 number of the boys and the girls who want to be 
educated has greatly outstripped the nation's ability to 
provide for them. All the high schools in the country can 
admit but a small part of those who desire to enter 
every year. There begins their struggle. They must en- 
counter the severe test of the competitive examination for 
entrance. For the colleges and universities it is not at all 
uncommon that there are ten or more applicants for every 
seat. Many ambitious high school graduates are compelled 
to wait two or three years before they can enter higher 
institutions. The waste of time and energy can not pos- 
sibly be calculated. It is, indeed, a great problem, and 
it becomes still greater with the growing national am- 
bition to be able to contribute something to the civiliza- 
tion of the world. 

198 The University Magazine 

gfo ffijemng Call m 1950 

Scene — Parlor in 1950. 

Enters Percy Sympsonne, a languid, coy youth, in loose, 
baggy, velvet trousers with ruffles at bottom, a pink silk 
sport shirt with lace at throat, and high-heeled patent 
leather pumps. He steps to large pier glass to left and 
gives finishing pats to his clothes and straightens large 
bow of pink ribbon in his hair. Makes as if to feel in 

Percy — Oh, dear. I forgot that this evening gown had 
no pockets. (Listens.) Gee! That sounded like the 
whir of Lorene's twin twelve air scooter. I must be look- 
ing good. She's come so far. 

(Flustered, he inspects face in glass and nervously 
pushes a button on the wall. Appears an automatic maid, 
and he eagerly snatches a powder puff from her. Dabbing 
at face.) There. Just a touch and the slick is gone. I 
must look good, for tonight I must tell her — confess to her 
— that thing in my past. She will learn that I'm not what 
she thinks. 

(A whir outside. He shoves another button, and maid 
and powder puff vanish. He languidly seats himself on 
a settee and crosses his legs. Enters Lorene Sullivan, 
ushered in by automatic butler. She is dressed very much 
as a modern aviator. Percy rises languidly and offers a 
limp hand. 

Lorene (bending to kiss his hand) — How good you're 
looking tonight, Percy. 

P. — And how late you are. I've just been waiting and 
waiting. (They sit on the settee.) 

- L. — Yes, six cylinders of my plane went dead when I 
was five miles up, and I didn't make more than two 
hundred an hour from Aiken on up here. 

P. — Five miles up ! Oh, what if it had broken down. 

The University Magazine 199 

It scares me to think what might have happened. Lorene, 
you don't know how I worried about you in that big racing 
plane. And you're so reckless. You never carry wings 
to use in case of a fall. 

L. (Taking possession of his hand) — Little boy, no risk 
is too great if it wins me one thought in your dear little 

P. (Archly, pulling his hand away) — Oh, no, Lorene, 
you mustn't. 

L. (Masterfully retaking hand) — Why musn't I, I'd 
like to know? 

P. (Kesisting very feebly) — Oh, because. (Lorene 
grips his hand tightly and leans very close.) 

P. — Oh, you hurt. You're so strong. You don't know 
how strong you are, Lorene. And I'm such a little boy. 
Lorene, sometimes I'm afraid of you. 

L. (Putting arm around him) — Why, I wouldn't hurt 
my little boy. Don't he know that? Only cuddle and 
love him. (Pulls his head to her shoulder.) 

P. — I'm afraid you make a plaything of me, Lorene. 
Do you ? 

L. — The idea. You've been reading more of Bindau's 
stuff in that silly Cosmopolitan. Now kiss me like a good 
little sweetheart. (Leans to his lips. Percy springs up 
and pushes her back.) 

P. — ISTo-o-o. (Aside to audience:) Oh, I can't tell her 
why those lips are polluted. 

L.— Why ? 

P. — Oh, you don't want to. (Aside:) How can I resist 
her. Yet how can I tell her? 

L. — But I do— more than anything else in the world. 

P. — Why do you ? 

L. — Because I love you, Boyie. JSTow, I've said it. 
(Stoops again. Again Percy pushes her back.) 

P. — Why do you love me ? 

200 The University Magazine 

L. (Flounders) — Oh, just because — well, I can't help 
it Because you are you. 

P. (Rising and standing before him) — ~No, you just love 
me because I let you do things I shouldn't. I'm not a 
child, and I know girls. They're not satisfied till you give 
them all they want. Then they laugh at you for a silly 
little thing and quit coming. 

L. (Rises and takes Percy's arm) — Why, my little 
cynic, what's the trouble ? Sit down. Why, boy, I've 
kissed you before, haven't I ? 

P. (Seriously) — Lorene, if you had a brother young as 
I am, would you want him to let the girl he was going 
with kiss him? (Aside:) This is silly, but I like it. And 
I must end all by confessing. 

L. (Ponders the question, at momentary loss) — Well — 

P. — Now you see what you're asking. Answer. 

L. (Triumphantly) — But if I were the girl going with 
my brother, you bet I'd kiss him. 

P. (Admiringly) — You're so smart, Lorene. How do 
you ever think of such cute things ? 

L. (Modestly) — Oh, it just came to me. Is it worth a 

P. — Ye — es. (Lorene puts her arm around him.) 

P. (Finishing) — But I can't trade. (Aside:) Oh, that 
I could or that I never had. (He wriggles loose.) 

L. ( Annoy edly) — What's wrong with you tonight, any- 
how, Percy ? Here I've planed all the way up here from 
Charleston to see you, and nearly got my neck broke, and 
you won't even kiss me one little time. (Rises and paces 
up and down angrily.) And it's so cold outside my en- 
gine's probably frozen by now — and I had to break a date 
and then lie to Dad to get the key to the hangar. He'll 
raise cain when he finds out that I didn't go over to Co- 
lumbia to review Latin with Jack, like I told him. And 
now you have to go and be stubborn. (Paces angrily up 

The University Magazine 201 

and down the room and then storms.) Dash it all, what 
was all that fuss for us women to get our rights away 
back in the first years of the century worth if a woman 
hasn't go the right to kiss the man she loves? (Gloomily 
pauses, then dramatically:) I might as well run the old 
twelve up a few miles, drop out and end it all. 

P. (Sobbing) — I knew you'd — be — angry, Lorene. But 
I was only teasing. Honest, I can't help it. You — if you 
only knew why I won't kiss you, Lorene. You wouldn't 
want me to. I — I can't honorably, you see. 

L. (Stops and walks over to settee) — You can't honor- 

P. ~Eo. Oh, it's awful, Lorene. I couldn't help it. 

L. — You can honorably % Why, boy, what do you mean ? 

P. — And I shouldn't ever have kissed you. Something 
happened to me — two years ago — oh, don't make me tell, 
Lorene, don't. I can't. 

L. (Solemnly) — But I must know. 

P. (Tearfully) — It's been a black weight on my consci- 
ence all these many weary months. And when I met you, 
I loved you so. Oh, I couldn't bear to tell you something 
that would make you never love me or kiss me any more. 

L. — Nothing, darling, could make me do that. 

P. — Oh, but you don't know. Only one other person 
in the world shares the black secret with me. And she's 
gone, and I thought I'd keep it forever locked in my heart. 
But I can't let you go on kissing me, not knowing what I 
am. I will tell, and you can hate me. 

L. (Sits down stiffly) — She's gone. What have you 
done ? Who was the base woman who lured — 

P. (Brokenly) — Dr. King — I was so young. I didn't 
realize what I was doing. 

L. — King ! The scoundrel ! The vile wretch ! ( Makes 
for door.) If there's vengeance in the world she shall 

202 The University Magazine 

suffer. The last drop of my blood shall be spilt in re- 
deeming your lost — 

P. (Desperately) — But it was my fault. I asked her. 

L. — Oh, God ! Then it's over. And I loved you so. 
(Turns to go.) 

P. (Stretching out arms) — But let me tell you. 

L. (Presses hand to heart) — Yes, tell all. Spare me 

P. — I never could stand a needle — stuck away up in 
my arm — oo-oo! I shudder even now to think of it, all 
bright and shiny and slender and sharp — so sharp. To 
feel it pushed in and in and come out all bloody — I never 
was strong, Lorene. 

L. (Amazed) — No, dear, we women don't expect 
strength of your sex. But a needle ? What on earth are 
you driving at ? 

P. — I couldn't bear the thought. And I begged Dr. 
King so — and she said there probably wouldn't be serious 
results. Oh, why couldn't I have foreseen that I would 
love and want undefiled lips for my lover ? 

L. (Relieved but puzzled, crosses to her) — In the name 
of the Great First Cause, what do you mean ? 

P. (Breaking into sobs again) — I — I never — took — 
the serum to prevent the transmission of diseases by labial 
contact. And now you've kissed lips that are not pure. 
Maybe some awful disease even now is making silent rav- 
ages on your great strong body. Oh, the sleepless nights 
that I've seen you wasting away in the clutches of some 
awful malady, which I have given you. And at last I 
loved you too much not to tell you. 

L. (Drops on settee and seizes him in her arms) — Dear 
little boy. As if love cared for germs. Listen, sweetheart, 
to my sentiment, to love's sentiment for always, clothed 
in poetry sweet and eternal, by the great Vertlex in the 
primitive times at the beginning of the century. And it 

The University Magazine 203 

still lives and is true, and will be as long as love which is 
forever. (Repeats in tones filled with emotion.) 

Though they affirm 

A deadly germ 

Lurks in the sweetest kiss, 

Let's hope the day 

Is far away 

Of antiseptic bliss. 

To boil the tips 

Of my sweetheart's lips 

Would simply be outrageous. 

I'd much prefer 

To humor her 

And let her be contagious. 

(She pauses. He is looking at her adoringly.) 

P. — Will you risk all for love ? 

L. — All. Kiss me now, darling. (A long kiss.) 


204 The University Magazine 

tffifje picture 


In my soul I have painted a picture 
Would pleasure disciples of art; 

And its glory transfigures my "being 
With a joy that can never depart, 

With a beauty more splendid than Iris- 
Than Dawn at her chariot's start. 

And its radiance thrills all my fancy 
Like the glow of the mellowest wine ; 

And its aureole dims the fair luster 
Of even the love-stars that shine. 

Yet the picture is naught but a portrait. 
But the face of the portrait — is thine ! 

The University Magazine 205 

& Nimble of Wiav better* 

[Note — The series of extracts from letters written be- 
tween 1861 and 1861 by soldiers in the service of the Con- 
federacy which begins in this number of the University 
Magazine is intended to give some idea of the life in the 
Confederate army, of the things which interested the sol- 
diers, and of the impressions which they had of the war 
while it was in progress. They have no other value. All 
of them were written by men who were of low rank among 
the officers and it has not seemed necessary to give their 
names. The letters were selected almost at random from 
a trunkful of the same sort. Just at this time when the 
attention of everyone is directed to the life in the trenches 
of Europe, there should be more than ordinary interest 
in material illustrating trench life in America. — Editor.] 

York Town, Va., June 30, 1861. 
* ■* * * *- ■& 

Our Regiment has been stationed at York Town some 
four or five weeks, during which time many important 
events has transpired. We have experienced many hard- 
ships, but have borne them without a murmur, knowing 
that we were engaged in a just and holy cause. Our leis- 
ure moments are but few, constantly drilling or engaged in 
working on the entrenchments. Our position here is a 
very strong one; completely surrounded by embankments, 
it would be almost an impossibility for an enemy to dis- 
lodge us. The highest state of excitement prevails among 
the troops, owing to the close proximity of the enemy. It 
requires the constant presence of the company officers to 
prevent their men from engaging in reckless skirmishing 
expeditions. I suppose you are aware of the position I 
occupy in the regiment. I command "Company C," or 
Charlotte Grays, being the third company in the regt. 

206 The University Magazine 

My company numbers now 135 and will be increased to 
150 within a few days. We are all unmarried, and between 
19 and 27 years of age, which is a peculiarity few com- 
panies can pride themselves upon. Our place of encamp- 
ment is located on a spot rich in history, being within a 
very short distance of the spot upon which Cornwallis stood 
when he surrendered his command to Washington. The 
house in which Cornwallis was confined after his surrender 
still stands in a remarkable degree of preservation. The 
old town itself is in a dilapidated condition. Every thing 
around reminds one of the scenes which occurred years ago, 
and which are now about to be reenacted and under al- 
most similar circumstances ; the only difference being that 
our fathers resisted the authority of a foreign tyrant and 
we resist a usurper of our dearest rights. We are ex- 
pecting an engagement here every day, but it seems as if 
our friends at Fortress Monroe are perfectly satisfied with 
the reception they met at our hands at Bethel and are 
content to allow us a little rest. North Carolina in that 
engagement covered herself with imperishable honor. I 
can say, and that proudly, that I am a North Carolinian. 

Miss A , I know you to be as true a Carolinian as 

myself. It would have made you still prouder of our Good 
Old State to have heard the encomium bestowed upon her 
by the other troops engaged in the action. You can scarce- 
ly imagine my feeling during the first part of the engage- 
ment; but after a few moments it seemed as if I had been 
created anew. Calmness succeeded the storm and I was 
prepared for almost anything. It was a heart rending 
thing to see so many of our own countrymen rushing on to 
death. They met their death as brave men should do ; 
rushing madly to the very cannon's mouth in their efforts 
to dislodge us ; but the God of Battles was with us and 
rendered their efforts fruitless. Our own brave troops be- 
haved equally as well. Rushing from point to point, 

The University Magazine 207 

wherever the danger was thickest, to prevent the enemy 
from obtaining a foothold upon our entrenchments, dur- 
ing the whole engagement, our men showed no signs of 
fear, neither did they hesitate an instant in obeying what- 
ever order was given to them. The fight was warmly con- 
tested by both parties for about four hours, at the expira- 
tion of which time the enemy withdrew and retreated in tne 
wildest confusion. Our men are extremely anxious for 
another fight and I doubt not that they will soon have 
another opportunity of chastising them in a more credita- 
ble manner than they did at Bethel. A portion of the 
troops stationed here numbering about five hundred have 
been exerting themselves for the past week in trying to 
bring about another engagement some twenty miles from 
here. Small parties are coming in now and report no 
enemy nearer than Newport News. There are about 8000 
troops here, among the number one Kegt, of Zouaves from 
New Orleans. They are decidedly the hardest looking 
men I ever saw ! Every nation in the world has a repre- 
sentation in their ranks. They are very insubordinate 
and it requires brutal treatment at times to bring them 
under proper subjection. We are almost shut out from all 
connection with the world at large, receiving mails but 
once a week. Persons from home frequently come to see 
us and it affords us so much pleasure to meet friends whom 
we left behind. 

Camp Gregg, Va., August 3, 1861. 

It would be a useless task for me to attempt a descrip- 
tion of the battle though a participant in it ; you will get 
eventually a better description than I could give, from the 

208 The University Magazine 

On Wednesday, seventeenth of July, I woke to hear that 
the enemy was advancing, that he was at Fairfax. I ate 
"breakfast and could see their bayonets glistening as they 
emerged out of the woods a mile distant. At length the 
long roll beat and our regiment, the most advanced, took 
position. Captain Kemper's battery, which is attached 
to our regiment, also took position. By that time they 
could not have been more than half a mile off ; as they ad- 
vanced we took another position; as they got opposite us 
we took another, gradually preceding out of town but show- 
ing them a front everywhere, we were the rear guard and 
had been ordered to retreat, but the Col. did not retreat 
until his piquet came in, which, by the way, came very 
near being caught. At last they came in and we retreated. 
They attempted to outflank us and came within fifteen 
minutes of doing so at Germantown ; we retreated to Cen- 
treville that day, and at twelve o'clock that night went to 
Bulls Bun, to our former entrenchments, the next day 
the first battle of Bulls Bun took place on the right ; the 
first shell thrown by them came over our embankment, 
we stood there for an hour and a half but "no one was 
hurt;" we witnessed parts of the battle, after they retreated 
a part of our regiment supported by one piece of Kemper's 
went out to fire a shot or two through a house behind 
which it was said the enemy had taken refuge, and pitched 
two shells into a ravine and then retired, fording Bulls 
Bun knee deep ; that afternoon we were moved to the left ; 
Sunday morning the enemy commenced about six o'clock, 
we staid at our entrenchments until about eleven, when we 
were ordered to the field. We had to march three miles to 
get to the battle field. Ours and Cash's S. C. and Freston's 
Va. went in together. The battle was at its crisis, it is 
acceded that we turned the battle ; when we charged our 
regiment came right on the !NT. Y. Zouaves who ran, we shot 
a great many of them, we then advanced on a body of regu- 

The University Magazine 209 

lars and commenced on them. Kemper came up behind ns 
and fired over our heads at them when they broke ; we alone 
in the centre with Cash's and a part of Hampton's Legion 
followed them two miles and fired into them just as they 
were forming again ; they broke ; we then returned to with- 
in a short distance of the battle field and slept. The next 
day it poured in torrents ; we stood it and slept that night 
on wet ground under a few tents and the next day marched 
to Centreville and to this place a distance of nearly eigh- 
teen miles, between two o'clock P. M. and five o'clock 
A. M. We got here just one week after we left Halifax, 
a week trying to the strongest constitutions ; in this week 
we retreated, slept in the rain without tents, fought and 
marched, with hardly anything to eat but hard crackers and 
bacon and some coffee. We are now comfortably fixed in 
a nice encampment. Our brigade — the following regi- 
ments — form the advanced guard of the army : Kershaw's 
2d, William's 3d, Bacon's 7th, Cash's 8th with the Rich- 
mond Howitzers, and Kemper's battery, with several Vir- 
ginia companies of dragoons. Kemper is a little Alexan- 
drian, a perfect trump, believe everything good you hear 
of him and twice as much. He was taken prisoner that 
day, but got away by his own cleverness. This brigade 
is commanded by Bonham. None in our company were 
killed, several wonded, among them Moultrie Dwight, but 
he is well again. Four or five in the regiment were killed 
and a good many wounded, some very severely. I declare 
it seems a perfect miracle, after going through battle that 
you get off; of course it was only through the mercy of 
God and I feel very thankful. It was wonderful not more 
in the regiment were killed; three or four times we were 
exposed to heavy fire. I forgot to say that by our pursuit 
twenty pieces of artillery were taken with many wagons 
and prisoners horses and munitions of war of every descrip- 

210 The University Magazine 

tion. It would be impossible for me to describe the rout; 
they flung away everything. 

Camp Fayetteville, Va v Oct. 5th, 1861. 

My company at this time engrosses my whole attention. 
Out of 153 members I only report about sixty for duty. I 
have near one hundred sick, a considerable number are in 
the country, and I generally visit them every day. I 
know that it would have made your generous heart bleed 
to have witnessed the distress in our regiment since enter- 
ing service. We have had as many as eleven hundred sick 
at one time. I have lost six very fine young men by 
death. I suppose there have been at ieast seventy-five 
deaths in the regiment. A great many of our men will 
return home with their constitutions ruined forever. The 
time of our enlistment will expire on the 13th of Novem- 
ber at which time our regiment will disband and return 
home. I am not able to say whether they will re-enlist 
or not. As for myself, I intend to do so immediately. I 
think that no true son of North Carolina should hesitate 
for a single instant in rendering whatever aid he can in 
accomplishment of the glorious cause for which we are now 
so obstinately contending. 

The general impression here is that we will have a 
desperate fight in a very short time. I think General Ma- 
gruder's intention is to attack "Newport News," a very 
strong fortification at the mouth of James river and six 
miles from "Fortress Monroe." Every thing goes to in- 
dicate a movement of this kind. If such be the case, I 
fear that it will require a very great loss of life to ac- 
complish it. Our force on the "Peninsula" has been con- 
siderably augmented within the last month. I suppose 

The Univeesity Magazine 211 

we have at this time near twenty-five thousand men ready 
for almost anything. Our troops are in the finest of 
spirits and anxious for immediate action. We are now 
encamped on one of the most beautiful spots I ever saw. 
It is on General La Fayette's old camping ground ; this 
circumstance alone renders it doubly interesting. It is in 
a beautiful grove of chestnuts occupying a very command- 
ing position. From here we have a splendid view of the 
surrounding country. On our left we have "York and 
Poquoson" rivers on our right the beautiful "James," 
"Fortress Monroe" in our front and York Town to our 

{To be Continued) 

212 The University Magazine 

Uncle ^eufcen'sf JXemintecttfe* 


Ob cose, Honey, it mite not ob been so, but then if yon 
wants to be argumentations dere aint nutbin this poor 
nigger says but what ye mite proove to be more or less 
not so. Ob cose now, Sis Cow might ob lied, I aint a 
doubtin de possibleness ob dat bein de troof, and yit Honey, 
Ise a ginin it to you like it wuz gine to me. 

You see, Honey, I done been prospectin round dese 
diggins so long, dat I jus naturally learnt de palaver ob 
most ob de animules. Yes sir, Honey, it mos make me 
blush abery time I hear dat pup of yourn take out atter 
yo mammy's tom-cat. Yes siree, what dey tell each other 
sho am scanlous. I members de time dat ole tom-cat. — 
but sho now, fust news you know I'll be plumb circum- 
luted round an done one an forgot to tell you dat reminis- 
cus ob mine. 

What is a reminiscus, is ye askin? Well sho now, it's 
sumpin you done forgot and jus remembered of suddin 
like. Like tother day When yo mammy sent ye atter dose 
sweet cakes an ye stopped to play marbles wid dat po 
white trash on de corner. I lows as how when you daddy 
tanned ye wid his cane dat was a reminiscus. 

Well, you see, it wuz like dis. I wuz down at de stable 
after supper, gibin ole sis cow sumpin to reminate on 
twixt then and the next time, an she up an axed me had I 
heared de scandal. I 'lows as how I hain't, so she put her 
bes foot fords and gib me de tale wid all de embellishments. 
She heard it from her boss Brer Bull, who heared it from 
anudder cow what heared it from de ole Dominecker hen 
wha lowed how as a friend ob hers who was dar tole it to 
her. So you see honey, its bound to be so. 

Seem like twnz all bout a new Guinea cock and a trig 
lil Bantum hen what yo daddy brung up from tudder farm 

The University Magazine 213 

de udder day. Dey trabbled in de same coop wid one 
annuder and both of dem bein sociable critters dey got 
powfull well quainted wid dere selves. Now den when dey 
wuz turned loose, dey aint knowing no body else, so what 
duz dey do but go roamin round altogether by dere own- 
selves. Dey doan run wid de chickens and dey doan run 
wid de guineas, dey jus go roamin off by demselves. 

Now dis cause a monstrous sturbance mongst de barn- 
yard critters. Dere aint been nuthin like it befoe since 
de time de ole Turkey Gobbler run away wid de pretty 
Miss Peacock. Brer Rooster lows as how hits a disgrace 
to de community an de fust time dat he koch dis impudent 
passel of trash whar dere aint no ladies present, he gwine 
fix Brer Guinea cock so his bes frens wont rememberate 
of him. 

Wall, it warnt long fo Brer Rooster ketch Brer Guinea 
Cock off by himself in de hay field, an bein as how he wuz 
big enuf to make six ob de guinea, and bein as how de 
guinea cock aint got sense nuff to know when he's licked, 
he jus beat im up till he wuz bloody all over an could 
scaicly stan. Yes suh, de Guinea cock wuznt big as a 
minut whats done pass but he sho wuz game. An bout dat 
time de lil Bantam hen come up an seen how bad somebody 
done gone an beat up her sweetheart, and she sat down 
an cried over im an comforted him till he was more chicker 
dan he wuz befoe. De old Buff Orpington hen she come 
long bout den an say serve him right, fo why doan he stay 
in he own set. Dis make de Bantam biling mad and she 
chase her clean past de pump kaise ye know de old Buff 
Orpington is one ob dem folks what's "too proud to fight." 

Wall, de Guinea Cock am a proud young feller an he 
resolve, so help im Hannah, he gwine git eben wid dat 
rooster. But sho now, Honey, what he gwine to do. He 
cain't jump on im an beat im up kaise he's too big. He 
caint drown him kaise Brer Rooster doan ner go near de 

214 The Univeesity Magazine 

water count ob how he's scaid ob it; an eben ef he did, 
Brer Guinea cock aint man enuf to shove im in. He 
kaint burn im or pizen im ; so he's in a monstrous puzzle- 
ment to find out how to get even. 

But one fine day de Guinea cock am out in de hay field 
a prospectin round kaise its mos dinner lime an he haint 
had a mouthful since sun up. An den all of a sudden he 
seen de bigges, fattess, yallerest, hoppergrass what he ever 
see in all he bo'n days. Brer Hoppergrass done seen Brer 
Guinea too, an he done beatin it way from dar, jus so fast 
as he kin put one foot in front of de udder. But Honey, 
day aint a chance; de guinea done kotched im foe he could 
waggle is wisher's twice, — He's monstrous little but he's 
more chipper dan a chigger. 

Wall Brer Guinea cock he's powful hongry but brer 
Hoppergrass he plead and argufy mos mightyly. He done 
tole im bout how he daddy ob a monstrous passel ob kids 
an he jus natarally bliged to live to brung em up right. 
But de guinea he mouty hongry, and he jus bout to gobble 
up de hoppergrass when he hear im say supin bout getting 
eben wid Brer Booster. Brer Guinea he reconsider immi- 
jit an ax im mos perlit how he gwine do dat. Sho now, 
dats more easier dan fallin off a log, say de hoppergrass, 
all ye got ter do is to keep Brer Rooster so worrit dat he 
caint eat an bymbye when he gets thin an scrawny, de 
Missus up at de big house done kotch im and make pearl- 
lew out of im. Dis look reasonable to Brer Guinea cock; 
so he turn de hoppergrass loose an put he foot in he hand 
an come back to de barnyard foe ye could fix. Den he hunt 
up he sweet heart, what he foun taking a dus bath in yo 
mammy's geranium bed, an tole her de plan an fix it up 
wid her what she wuz ter do. 

Bymbye it come dinner time and de maid come out wid 
de feed. Brer Guinea cock he siddle up to de trofT an he 
prance an he cavort an he make eyes at de ladies till he 

The University Magazine 215 

don make Brer Rooster so mad he doan stop to eat nufin 
but lite out atter im hard as he kin tear. Ob cose he dont 
kotch im Honey, Brer Guinea he too spry fo dat. Den 
bymbye when Brer Rooster he all tired out an de vittals 
done all gone, Brer Guinea he go off an leave de rooster 
and go on down to de geranium bed whar he sweet heart 
done wait fo him wid a passel ob vittals what she done save 
fo im. 

An Brer Guinea he keep on doin dis an he sweetheart 
keep on savin de vittal fo im ; so Brer Rooster he git thin 
an scrawny as a scarecrow as Brer Guinea he git fatter an 
fatter every day. An den one day Brer Rooster doan show 
up no moe, an de next day deres chicken feathers on de 
trash heap and chicken bones in de feed scrap. Den Brer 
Guinea cock he feel mighty prosperous an content. 

Dar now, Honey, deres yo mammy a callin of you. Ye'd 
bitter git ter movin. Member sonny, dere's mo ways ob 
killin a cat dan chokin im to deff wid sugar. 

216 The University Magazine 

©nip Hear? 


Ere the silver shafts of morning 

Bid the gloom of night away, 
And with lurid lines adorning 

Deck the Eastern sky with grey — 
Down the frozen paths are wending 

Crowds of children, ragged, cold — 
Girls and women, weak and bending, 

Withered, wasted, yet not old. 
Only listen to the clatter 

Of the spindle and the loom 
Mingled with the children's chatter 

Rising mystic from the gloom — 
Only hear the weary shuffle, 

Long before the break of day; 
Hear the cry the wind can't muffle 

Nor the day light drive away. 
Only hear ? — and without heeding 

Pass that ragged army by ? — 
Close your heart against their pleading 

And reject a brother cry? 

The University Magazine 217 

OTfjat mmt is %tl 


Throughout the ages, ever since the time when man was 
satisfied to reckon day as commencing when it became light 
enough for him to distinguish the hairs on his bare arm 
against the sky, on down to our present generation, which 
measures the velocity of an electron to the thousandth part 
of second, folk have asked the question : "What time is it ?" 
And men have devised many ingenious and interesting 
machines for answering it. 

Some one of our illustrious ancestors who was more 
familiar with the tropics than we are, observed the fact 
that the saucer-like half of a cocoanut, if minutely punc- 
tured and floated upon water, would take exactly the same 
period of time to fill and sink, however often he repeated 
the process. Putting this principle into practice this gen- 
tleman produced the world's first timepiece. The idea be- 
came quite popular, and before long the richer natives of 
India had improved upon it to the extent of using a cop- 
per basin in place of the coco-nut shell and also of provid- 
ing a slave to strike a gong announcing each sinking of the 

However, this method of measuring time was too cum- 
bersome for the Greek ; so, taking the lead in this line of 
progress, as in many others, he conceived the idea of hav- 
ing the supply of water drip through a small hole in a 
large earthenware reservoir into a marked cylinder. Thus 
by looking into the cylinder and reading the height of the 
water he could tell at any time just how many of the "drops 
of time had stolen by." But because of the inconvenience 
of having to keep the supply tank full, this form of water 
clock, the clepsydra, was generally used only when it was 
desired to measure some limited period of time, such as 
the duration of a race or the timing of a debate. History 

218 The University Magazine 

tells us that once when the great debater Demosthenes was 
interrupted to be questioned by an opponent, he turned 
peremptorily to the "Second Censor" with the words: 
"You there! Stop the water!" Possibly the installation 
of such timepieces in our Di and Phi society halls would be 
advantageous, — limiting Freshman debates to, say, one 
pint each, while the average Senior might be allowed a 
gallon ! 

That hero of first year Latin, Cicero, informs us in one 
of his letters that he is exceedingly proud to have had in- 
stalled in connection with his beautiful villa not only a 
water clock, but a sun dial as well. While the sun dial 
was a novelty to Cicero, it had in reality been in use as a 
time piece for over five hundred years. The first men- 
tion of one is made in the Bible. (For the sake of the 
curious I give the reference: Isaiah 38:8.) The first va- 
riety of this instrument consisted merely of a pole stuck 
in the ground. The time of day was then noted in terms 
of the length of the shadow. An amusing tale is told of 
the hungry Roman wag who, who invited to supper "about 
the 10 foot shadow" (i. e. about five in the afternoon), 
measured the morning shadow instead and arrived at 
6 A. M. ! By the year 150 B. C. sundials were quite com- 
mon in Rome, and probably many took the place of our 
present municipal clocks. The following translated lines 
from Plautus reveal quite humorously the popular senti- 
ment toward them, (and, in fact, probably express quite 
well also the sentiment of that gang of insistent clamorers 
who storm the doors of Swain Hall just before each meal) : 

"When I was young no timepiece Rome supplied, 
But every fellow had his own — inside ; 
A trusty horologe, that — rain or shine — 
Ne'er failed to warn him of the hour — to dine, 
Then sturdy Romans sauntered thru the Forum, 
Fat, hale, content; for trouble ne'er came o'er them, 

The University Magazine 219 

But now these cursed dials show their faces 
All over Rome in streets and public places; 
And men, to know the hour, the cold stone question, 
That has no heart, no stomach, no digestion; 
They watch the creeping shadows — daily thinner — 
Shadows themselves, impatient for their dinner. 
Give me the good old time piece, if you please, 
Confound the villain that invented these ! 

Despite the fact, however, that many people objected to 
having accuracy of time thus thrust upon them, time pieces 
persisted. A curious modification of the water clock was the 
hour glass, in which sand was made to substitute for water. 
The average American household today which is interested 
in boiling eggs has an egg-timer made on the same prin- 

In the search for more convenient ways of measuring 
time, people noticed that carefully moulded candles burn- 
ed down at a fairly regular rate ; thus the candle clock had 
its day. However, at best it was only roughly accurate, 
as the wax could not be made of the same consistency 
throughout. But for our hale and hearty ancestors, who 
would light a bit of candle at sunset and "sit up late" an 
hour or so until it burned out, it sufficed. 

One ancient monarch devised a very novel and beauti- 
ful kind of timekeeper. It consisted of a bed of flowers of 
many different kinds. Some opened early in the morning, 
others later ; some closed in the heat of the day, others not 
till sunset. He might thus rise at the opening of the 
morning-glory and sup at the closing of the tulip. 

But we might go on for pages describing the many, many 
devices of man for telling the time of day. There have 
been wind clocks, moon dials, tide clocks, and in more 
recent days of speaking clocks, musical clocks, self-winding 
clocks, clocks wound by the weather, one handed clocks, 
three handed clocks, clocks with twenty-four hour dials, 

220 The University Magazine 

aeroplane clocks, electric clocks, pneumatic clocks, alarm 
clocks and dollar Ingersols. A famous Bohemian once 
made a clock entirely of glass, with the exception, as he 
carefully informs us, of the spring! A German, evidently 
out of work, once sawed a small two inch clock in half, 
put the two halves into a bottle through a one inch neck, 
and then welded the parts together inside of the bottle. 
But lest I should become tedious, let me close by mention- 
ing the most remarkable invention ever made in this line. 
After repeated efforts and failures a student at Harvard 
university has recently perfected an absolutely noiseless 
alarm clock, guaranteed not to wake the soundest sleeper 
before ten in the morning ! 

The University Magazine 221 

<&lb 3Com 


Nobody in the village knew anything about Old Tom 
or about the tragedy of his early life that caused him to 
leave the busy throngs and take up the life of a hermit 
in the edge of the dense forest that bordered the little New 
England village. Of course there was much gossip about 
the picturesque old man when he began to make his weekly 
trips to the village store for provisions, and many were the 
comments that his quaint dress gave rise to. Children 
feared the old man as they feared the gypsies, and when 
little Willie became naughty it was only necessary to threat- 
en to call "Old Tom" to produce a model of obedience. 
Everybody talked about the old man, but each was aware 
of his own ignorance of him; so each rejoiced when news 
was brought telling of his past life. To Carl Watson 
came the distinguished honor of conveying this important 

He was the fifteen-year old son of a well-to-do widow, 
whose husband, an excellent gentleman, had been murdered 
a few years before while the family was living in Boston. 
Carl was rather a precocious child — or should I call him 
a young man? — and did not so much enjoy the company 
of the boys of his own age as he did the solitude of the 

One morning he started out on one of his numerous 
trips through the woods and soon found himself in the 
clearing where Old Tom's hut was situated. He was in 
the act of hurrying past the shanty (for it must be con- 
fessed that he shared the general fear of the old man) 
when he was startled by hearing cries of pain evidently 
proceeding from the cabin. Being very sympathetic, Carl 
forgot his fears, and pushing open the door, entered 
the cabin. He saw the cause of the old hermit's pain im- 

222 The University Magazine 

mediately. In attempting to lift a heavy box, the old man 
had allowed one end of it to fall on his foot, causing acute 

Carl was about to resume his walk when the old re- 
cluse looked at his face and seemed to be reminded of 
someone of his earlier days, for he asked the boy to sit 
down, explaining that he wished to question him. To 
this the boy rather reluctantly assented and adjusted him- 
self to the rude chair which was offered him. 

"What is your name ?" Old Tom asked by way of open- 
ing up the interview. 

a Carl Watson, sir," the lad responded briefly. As he 
mentioned the name the old man gave a start and again 
gazed into the boy's face. Then he asked the boy more 
fully about himself, and when the narrative was finished 
he gazed out into the forest, muttering, "can it be pos- 
sible. Yes, there can be no doubt of it." 

It was now the boy's turn to express surprise, and anxi- 
ous to find an explanation for the hermit's lively interest 
in him, he, in turn, asked for the life-story of the strange 
old man. After some hesitation the latter consented. 

"Some years ago," he began, "your father and I were 
business partners in Boston, and we were both very much 
in love with the same young lady, now your mother, then 
Miss Mary House. Well, for a time John and I seemed 
about even in our love suits, and it would have been diffi- 
cult, or even impossible to tell which of us she loved more, 
both of us being hopeful of winning her. 

"One morning, however, she informed me that she had 
become engaged to my partner and rival. Of course I 
wa3 shocked to learn this, and if the truth must be told, 
I cultivated a decided grudge against my successful former 
friend. This grudge, once started, continued to grow, and 
in about a year we dissolved partnership. About a month 
later your father was killed and — " 

The University Magazine 223 

"Do you mean to say that you killed my father?" in- 
terrupted the boy. The old man motioned him to be silent 
and continued. 

"Partly because I was known to have been in that part 
of the city that night and partly because of the enmity be- 
tween us I was arrested but escaped from the officers and 
fled from the city. 

"You ask me if I killed your father, I did not, and here 
is proof of it." 

He opened a box and, from a large package of mis- 
cellaneous papers, he extracted a folded sheet, which he 
handed to the lad. It was the death-bed confession of the 
actual murderer which, by some indirect route, had reach- 
ed the old man. 

"You see, this fellow knew that your father was carry- 
ing home some money, and was obliged to kill him to se- 
cure it, which was not murder prompted by hatred but 
rather inspired by greed. 

"When I left Boston, I went to Canada where I lived 
in a hut something like this one. When I secured this 
proof of my innocence, I at first decided to go to the courts 
and remove the tarnish and shame from my name; but 
I had grown to love the life of a hermit and was rather 
reluctant to give it up. Besides, the murderer had a son, 
an excellent man who was ignorant of his father's crime, 
and I was unwilling to harm his good name. -So I came 
here and here I have been since you have known me. I 
was not aware that I lived so close to the woman whom I 
loved so dearly in my earlier manhood, but now I love 
nature, the flowers and the trees, and I believe my life 
among them is more pleasant than among scheming men." 

224 The University Magazine 


(Not Written by the Prince of Wails) 

When I sit me down to write 
A bit of verse, in fancy light, 
Some ruthless mortal always shatters 
My thought and vision into tatters. 

When Poetry's Muse comes hovering near, 
And I am filled with hope sincere, 
That I may woo the sprite of verse, 
There is a crash, or something worse ! 

One morn I rose at break of day 
To write on Spring, perhaps on May, 
When suddenly my roommate's snore 
Burst forth into a mighty roar. 

And once I caught a vision bright : 
A soul resplendent in the Night. 
But Hark ! — there tinkled merrily 
The haunting tune of Wai-ki-ki. 

With purpose firm, alone I set 

To write one stanza — only that. 

The door flew open — my friend spake : 

"I'll match you for a chocolate shake !" 

To Ealeigh road, in desperate mood, 
I went, to write in solitude. 
A panting track man by me sped. 
I turned again — ideas had fled. 

The University Magazine 225 

Thus every verse-gem in the rough 
Is interrupted. O, it's tough ! 
A would-be poet's life is — well, 
I'll say — there goes the Chapel bell ! 

— E. J. Burdick. 


Yes, sir, Shep sure was in a fix. Of course he ought not 
to have been, he had no business to be fooling with girls 
while he was going to College, but there he was. There was 
no getting around that fact. The substance of the whole 
affair was this. Shep had a very good friend who lived 
in Florida and when he had come back to school that fall 
he had brought back some pictures with him. Among 
these pictures was one of a very pretty girl. Quite nat- 
urally Shep asked her name, and his friend said she was 
Elsie MacDonald. 

So far, so good ; no harm had been done yet. But where 
Shep let himself in for a lot of trouble was when he began 
corresponding with her. He really didn't expect her to 
answer his first letter, and she didn't at first; but finally 
she wrote him a letter so full of complete understanding 
and sympathy that Shep threw all caution to the winds 
and plunged head over heels into this endearing cor- 

The tone of their letters became more and more affec- 
tionate, as they always do under these circumstances. And 
so when his friend asked Shep to go home with him for 
Christmas and when Elsie had asked him too, he consented 
with alacrity. Now they were on their way home. They 
had left Jacksonville and were now on the Florida Limited 
that in a few hours would put them home some two hun- 
dred and fifty miles away. Shep's heart sang. Every 
revolution of the engine's drivers was bringing him closer 

226 The University Magazine 

to his heart's desire. For a long time Shep's bliss was 
unalloyed, but then somehow a misgiving crept into his 
heart. There was certainly a guilty look to the back of 
his friend's head as he sat in the chair in front of him. 
Suppose he had put the wrong name to the picture and 
Shep had been writing to someone else ! He wondered if 
he hadn't been almost too endearing in his last letter. Why, 
she might be an old maid, or even a married woman for all 
he knew. Heavens above, why had he ever got into this 
mess ! 

But there was no more time for meditation; they got 
off at the next stop, and Shep must be primping up some 
as his friend had said Elsie would be surely be down to 
the train to meet him. At last they were there, and climb- 
ed down from the Pullman into a pretty little station al- 
most hidden by the palms and covered all over with climb- 
ing roses. Shep looked all around but could not recognize 
any of the women as his correspondent, altho nearly all of 
them were quite pretty. Shep began to fear the worst. 
At last his friend spoke. 

"Meet my friend, Miss Elsie MacDonald, Shep," he 
said. Shep spun around quickly. Where, where was she % 
There was not a woman in fifty feet of them. But there 
beside his friend was two hundred and fifteen pounds of 
good looking boy measuring some six feet four. Alas, 
alas, 'twas so. Shep had been corresponding with him all 
this time, thinking he was a girl. The picture ? — Oh, that 
was the friend's sister. 

— ~N. A. Reasonee. 


There is nothing historical about Shadowville. Corn- 
wallis never hitched his horse to any of the large oak trees 
of the town, neither did General Grant spend Sunday 

The University Magazine 227 

there, nor was Andrew Jackson born there. But still it 
has an atmosphere about it that is peculiarly its own. 

Upon entering, from the noise you hear, the speeding 
of Fords, the squeaking of farm wagons, the hammering 
of the village blacksmith, and the tinkling of the cow bells 
— you would imagine yourself entering the terminal sta- 
tion of some large city. In reality you will find yourself 
in a town where you need not buy postcards to get a view 
of it, for after you have been there five minutes you will 
have seen it all. You will see at once that the town must 
have been laid off by the farmers of the community dur- 
ing the hot days of August, for the streets only lie in di- 
rections where plenty of shade is to be found. 

The churches of the town are built far enough apart to 
let all of them have services at one time, and still not 
drown each other out with their loud sinffin^. The busi- 

O o 

ness section is conveniently located — all on one street. The 
hotel, which is located in the center of the business section, 
is keeping down the high cost of living by employing one 
man as porter, clerk, and maid. Also in the shady part of 
town you will find a drug store, several grocery and dry 
goods stores, one livestock stable, a picture show (two 
nights out of the week), a blacksmith shop, a bank, a post- 
office, and a newspaper (three months during the year, 
while the editor, who is studying veterinary surgery, is at 
home on his vacation). 

At the office of the justice of the peace, which is next 
door to the postoffice, is found always a crowd of philoso- 
phers, who will gladly give you any information that you 
may want — from what is going to happen since America 
has broken relations with Germany down to when is the 
best time to plant black-eyed peas. As a whole, it is a 
very good town. They have their political squabbles and 
Fourth of July picnics. And occasionally there are dis- 
putes, such as who shall play the organ in one of the 

228 The University Magazine 

churches, or who shall be appointed to superintend having 
the local cemetery cleared of weeds. 

The people are kind-hearted and are always glad to 
welcome a stranger, which welcome is none the less sincere 
although it is tinged with curiosity. 

— Daniel P. McKinnon. 


When I was a water boy on my father's farm, I was at 
liberty to do whatever I chose in the cool of the morning. 
I usually spent part of this time upon a high hill top 
around which a panorama of unequaled beauty was spread. 
From this position I could see, in the far distance, the 
blue mountain tops ranged about me in a great circle, 
which apparently shut off the outside world. I wondered 
how the trains managed to get past this huge barrier, and 
often I closely scanned the near mountains in hopes of 
seeing a train. Separating me from the mountains were 
innumerable valleys and hills dotted with tracts of woods, 
cultivated fields, and green pastures. Occasionally, upon 
a hillside, I could see some farmer carefully plowing his 
field, and if he was near enough, I could hear the gruff 
"gees" and "haws" with which he guided his team. Scat- 
tered here and there were farmhouses. From the kitchen 
chimneys of some I could see smoke ascending and knew 
that the wives were already beginning to cook dinner. 
Along the winding streams in the valleys I could see cattle 
slowly grazing, and hear the faint tinkling of the bells 
which hung about their necks. 

The air about me would be filled with the sweet notes 
of many birds, the melodious song of the mocking birds, 
the sharp calls of the crows, the twittering of the sparrows 
— each bird seemingly desirous of excelling in giving 
voice to his joyous feelings — while, at intervals, from 

The University Magazine 229 

somewhere near, as if to quiet the medley of other voices, 
would come the ventriloquial coo of a dove. Now and 
again from a barnyard would come the domineering crow 
of chanticleer above the excited cackling of the hens. 

But a new sound, not of Nature's production was wont 
to break in upon my reveries, for a farm hand becoming 
thirsty would yell, " Water-boy !" 

— Leslie Sluder. 


Ah, little "Three/ 7 

I'm glad to see. 
You came to me so unaware. 

You would be good 

Enough for food 
If you were on the bill of fare. 

Ah, little "Three," 

I'm glad to be 
Your owner, and I'll always strive, 

In fall and spring, 

To do the thing 
That will bring you instead of "Five." 

— L. H. Jobe. 

230 The University Magazine 

grounti tfje »eU 


The advocating of a minstrel club for the University, 
this spring or next year, does not mean that the Glee, 
Mandolin, or Dramatic Clubs be done away with but that 
they should go on, with the one exception of the Dramatic 
Club. It would probably be best for the Dramatic Club 
to continue to give one trip a year, in either semester, 
under the present plan, and by supplementing and combin- 
ing its present members with any others interested, either 
from the Glee Club or from the student body in general. 
This combined talent could and would put out a very good 
minstrel, during the other half of the year. I am only 
arguing, therefore, for a chance for such an organization 
to have a try out, perhaps at this coming Commencement, 
as has been proposed by two members of the faculty, who 
are very much in favor of this change. In a few words my 
plan is to substitute for one of the trips of the Dramatic 
Club a good minstrel show, which would afford opportunity 
for many more men to show their ability in another line. 
This trip would not interfere with the regular work of 
the Glee Club. It would also have all the talent from the 
present Dramatic Club to help build up the cast. The 
membership would be more representative of the whole 
University, and would add diversification to the perfor- 
mance. The overwhelming appeal of good minstrelsy to 
the public is generally admitted, and this appeal would be 
re-enforced by the fact that this club would be a University 
organization. A few words about this form of art will help 
to clear up any objections that may arise in the minds 
of my readers. 

In the first place, minstrelsy is the oldest form of public 

The University Magazine 231 

entertainment known, antedating Shakespeare by three 
centuries. This shows conclusively its supersedence over 
dramatics. In the second place, it is admittedly the most 
popular form of entertainment on the present stage, not 
only on account of the fact that it is most diversified, and 
hence not so tiresome as dramatics, but because of its gen- 
eral appeal to humanity. The theatre-going class seek 
relief from the cares of the day, wishing to be amused. 
The humor, clean-cut comedy, wit, dancing, acrobatic work, 
and music, both vocal and instrumental, give it this univer- 
sal appeal, which is clearly shown by its world-wide suc- 
cess. On account of the lightness of touch, diversification, 
and superficiality, this form of amusement will interest, 
more than dramatics, those who now attend the perfor- 
mances of the Dramatic Club and will also draw the gener- 
al public, who attend such a show purely for enjoyment and 
not because of the association of the Dramatic Club with 
the University. The lack of interest, which is prevalent 
now, because of the fact that many of the productions of 
the Dramatic Club fail to "get across the footlights, " as in 
the second sketch in the present program, would be eradi- 
cated, and the performance would depend upon its real 
interest to the public in general. The deficit, incurred on 
previous trips, would be turned into a profit of no mean 
size. When we consider that the present members of the 
Dramatic Club are heartily in favor of this change, it be- 
comes clear that I am not advocating a perfectly un- 
thoughtof plan, but am merely asking that such a system, 
which has been tried with success elsewhere, be given a fair 
trial here, either this spring at Commencement, as has been 
proposed, or at a later date. 

Such a system, as I have outlined, is practicable, having 
been tried by many different Universities and schools. 
One of the students of this University, while in high 
school, with the help of others in his graduating class, put 

232 The University Magazine 

on a minstrel show in his own home town and cleared 
thereby over eight hundred dollars, the price of a fine 
piano for the school, their graduating gift. A second ex- 
ample of such a plan has to do with the minstrel show that 
the University of Florida organized. Glee club men and 
others interested toured the state of Florida, with unex- 
pected good success and prosperity to the club. The cast 
they carried was unusually large and composed of the 
cream of the college, taken from all the lines of activity: 
dramatics, glee club work, gymnastics, and others. The 
practicability of the scheme was proven beyond a doubt. 

The third example that I wish to bring to your atten- 
tion is the system that is in practice at our sister univer- 
sity, Virginia. The students at Virginia placed upon their 
program a musical extravaganza, which is a more genteel 
term for minstrel show, and in this case again success 
favored their student enterprize. Inasmuch as much more 
interest is shown in minstrelsy than dramatics, the manage- 
ment would not have to "go into a hole" from lack of sup- 
port, which has been the case many times in the past with 
the Dramatic Club, if they would put out a really first-class 
minstrel show. It is the most practicable form of amuse- 
ment that a college organization can put forth with success. 

Moreover, there are in this University two men, and 
probably more, who can conduct such a minstrel with suc- 
cess, one having done such work for six summers and the 
other for eight. As an offset to the cost of the costumes, 
the only real preliminary expense, these have been gener- 
ously offered free by one of these students, who is an ex- 
pert in costuming, as is shown by his success in high school, 
which I previously mentioned. He would make a capable 
manager of such a minstrel club, and would assure the 
practicability of minstrelsy for this University. 

In connection with the work of improving the perfor- 
mances of the Dramatic Club's production, which it will 

The University Magazine 233 

give, under my plan, during one semester, the offering of 
a prize or prizes for the best or the best two or three 
plays, scenarios, or sketches, comic or otherwise, written 
by students for the use of the Dramatic Club, would not 
only tend to create more interest among the student body 
but would present to the people of the state something 
unique in character and representation, which would cause 
a much livelier interest on the part of the general 
public, other than those naturally interested in the pro- 
ductions of the Dramatic Club. That part of the public 
that does not at present attend these performances would 
go to see, perhaps out of pure curiosity, a student's pro- 
duction on the stage. This idea has been taken up by 
many other schools and universities with success. 

The supplementing of the work of the Dramatic Club 
by devoting one semester to the production of a really first 
class minstrel show, and the addition of interest to the 
regular performance of the Dramatic Club by the produc- 
tion of a play written by a student, will appeal to the 
public to a greater extent than the present plan, and will, 
therefore, be a great step forward. Let us give this plan 
our careful attention and support. It is worthy of a fair 

— George Balcii Lay, '18. 


1. In the beginning our forefathers created this Uni- 

2. And the campus was without form ; and trees grew 
upon it. 

3. And our forefathers said, Let there be buildings, 
and there were buildings. 

4. And they divided the campus by certain walks from 
one building to another. 

234 The University Magazine 

5. And they said, Let the campus bring forth green 
grass, and it did. 

6. And they said, Let young men come to this Uni- 
versity, and they did. 

7. Thus this University was begun. 


1. He that hath eyes to see, let him read. 

2. Now, it came to pass, that many students came to 
this University; some to stay one year, some two years, 
some three years, and some four years. 

3. Out of this number, some traveled the walks laid 
out by their forefathers. 

4. There were others, who did not do this, but instead 
walked the nearest way across the campus from one build- 
ing to another. 

5. Which now of these two classes of students, think- 
est thou was loyal to the University ? 

6. Some say, "Those that travel the walks laid out 
for them." 

7. Others reply, "Go, and do thou likewise." 

— L. H. Jobe. 

The University Magazine 235 



The latest issue of The College Message is the best issued 
by the Greensboro College for Women this year. If the 
present rate of improvement is continued the last issue of 
the college year will indeed attain a high standard of ex- 

The articles of the issue under consideration (Decem- 
ber) present a happy combination of poetry and prose, of 
short stories and essays, of gaiety and seriousness. The 
two articles devoted to Wordsworth are both thoughtful 
and well written, but one of them could well have been 
omitted, and the greater variety gained would have been 
worth while. The material under the department heads 
of "Y. W. C. A.," "Athletics/' "Selected Smiles," "Lo- 
cals/* "Dramatic Club," is composed wholly of news items 
and would appear to better advantage in the College week- 
ly than in the College magazine. In fact their presence in 
the magazine somewhat detracts from it, for it should 
possess essentially literary qualities. But if there is no 
weekly publication the magazine editors are merely mak- 
ing the best of a bad business. 

The article entitled "William Wordsworth" is well 
written and worth while. It illustrates Wordsworth's atti- 
tude toward the times in which he lived, as reflected in 
his writings; it reveals him in the midst of nature where 
he was happiest; and portrays his affection for his sister 
who meant so much to his career and who gave him "love, 
and thought, and joy." Wordsworth was one of a num- 
ber of English poets and writers who were enthusiastic 
over the promise which the French Revolution, in its be- 
ginning, seemed to hold out. 

236 The University Magazine 

"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 
But to be young was very heaven !" 

In that period it seemed to Wordsworth that, "Reason 
seemed the most to assert her rights." 

A life lived close to nature, and among plain people 
reflects its impression in Wordsworth's rebellion against 
class and customs; and he rejoices in the overthrow of the 
set order in France. He further expresses his sentiment 
against it in "Intimations of Immortality" when he regret- 
fully sighs : 

"Thou little child 

Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight, 
Heavy as frost,, and deep almost as life." 

But I am digressing. After all that may he the best 
test of the article being reviewed : the interest it arouses. 

"The Deed" is all form and no substance. The smooth- 
ness and polish of the literary style almost make one 
apologize for the absence of something to say. The victim 
of the hero, "watched — with hate, ungovernable, burning 
hate — gleaming from his eyes" turns out to be a cat. Now 
I've known men to "cuss" cats ; even to kick cats ; but I've 
never known men to "hate" cats. What would be the 
measure of the mind of one who could have an "ungovern- 
able hate" for so little a thing as a cat? Or who would 
lie in ambush for several days in order to kill a cat ? I 
also object to a grave, even a cat grave, that is dug by 
the "toe of a shoe," Such a grave is entirely illegitimate. 
But perhaps I am too harsh on a sketch, the chief fault of 
which is, — an unfortunate use of words. 

"The Castle of Learning" is a very interesting story in 
allegorical form. The reference to Latin and Greek as 
"Mummies" persuades us that the writer is not unkind to 

The University Magazine 237 

the "modern school" soon to he inaugurated, and that even 
now she is fretted by the toils of Xenophon's Anabasis, or 
by the sere philosophy of Latin Horace. 

"The Life" is the leading story in the magazine. The 
plot is worth while and is interestingly developed. 

"The Deed/' "As It Passes," and "History of Nag's 
Head," if separated from the other material and placed 
under a sketch department, would add a feature to a maga- 
zine which is already praiseworthy. 

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University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 

No. 5 

New Series Vol. 34 



Editorial Comment 241 

Gaiters Frank Clarvoe 243 

Oracle C. G. Tennent 249 

Chapel Hill— What Is It? /. Earl Harris 250 

His Awakening E. E. Groves 255 

Song to a Lady A. M. Lindau 264 

A Bundle of War Letters 265 

Morning Glory S. F. Telfair 271 

Lines /. Earl Harris 277 

The Stranger Gladys Avery 278 

Sketches 282 

Around the Well 291 


University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Editor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. STEELE, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau 
Frank ClarvoE 

Albert Oettinger 
A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 
William York, Dialectic 

The University op North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

APRIL, 1917 
Old Series Vol. 47 No. 5 New Series Vol. 34 

Cottortal Comment 

If any man subscribes for a daily publication, lie always 
wants to read that publication as soon as possible after it 
leaves the press. If any student pays a library fee, lie 
naturally objects to waiting from four to eighteen Lours 
after the daily papers arrive at the post office before he is 
permitted the privilege of reading them. 

Better service, please ! 

The University of North Carolina, like many other 
American universities, is taking stock of her martial assets. 
The local unit of the National Intelligence Bureau has 
charge of the work. A catalogue of the students and alum- 
ni will soon be completed ; and should war come, the local 
adjutant will be in position to place each man in the 
branch of service for which he is best equipped. 

The last issue of the Magazine will go to press April 
20, and with it we automatically cease to be an editor. 
Whether the publication has been a success thus far we 
grant our readers the right to say. But from the editorial 
chair, it will never be considered a success unless the 
last issue is as good if not better than the first. We are 
begging you to come to our aid and to help us make a 

242 The University Magazine 

final rush ; for we have noticed that it is a characteristic 
weakness of most student publications to gradually grow 
weak until their final trip to the press room is made on 
crutches, or, perhaps on a stretcher. 

Come, help us make the last issue the best of the year! 

The Dramatic Club and the Glee Club, as we have 
known them, are to pass away, or rather to give place to 
a larger organization made possible by the combination 
of the two. 

Already plans are being made to present before the 
North Carolina public, The University Greater Minstrels. 
The only objection that we can see to the new plan will 
be the fact that the management will be unable to fill more 
than ten engagements away from the Hill. And with 
such musical and burnt cork talent as the thousand stu- 
dents promise, every city and town in the State will want 
at least one performance. 

Compulsory and voluntary military training at the Uni- 
versity is getting a pretty thorough handling by students 
and faculty at present. While neither side of the question 
is lacking in champions, it is to be regretted that the 
majority of these champions seek audiences of one before 
whom to express their opinions. The Tar Heel made a 
call for expressions on the subject and only three people 
ventured to make public their convictions. 

We believe military training in some form is coming 
to Carolina. It will either prove harmful to the students, 
the University, and the State, or it will be beneficial. If 
you have convictions on the subject, either pro or con, 
and feel that you have a good argument for such convic- 
tions, it is your duty, in so far as you are interested in the 
University, to let yourself be heard. 

The University Magazine 243 



That ancient but sophisticated poet who remarked that 
the winter wind had nothing on man's ingratitude for un- 
kindness had a remarkable insight into the cussedness of 
human nature, which may be another way of saying that 
a log peeler has a great many characteristics in common 
with the aforesaid poet's friends. 

All that anyone needed to do to make "Swede" Jameson 
mad as a burnt mule was to mention the name of Bill 
McCloud. And the strange part of the whole thing, 
stranger, was the fact that Bill saved the big foreman's 
life. I was at Sunburst at the time and am in a position 
to state the facts. 

By some streak of ill-luck — mine stayed with me like 
a dull peavy — I was Super for that year while Henderson 
was away, and had a chance to take a hand in everything 
that happened, and I might say that my calloused paw 
nearly took the count, for there was no end of excitement. 
I don't say that McCloud was the direct cause of the flood 
and the fire, for I am a truthful man at all times, especially 
when I am firing a man. 

One day in June after the 3:16 had passed and the 
men were once more engaged in earning their pay, I was 
interrupted in the contemplation of my prize shoat by the 
appearance, on the other side of the pen, of a city looking 
bo wearing a straw hat — not that he didn't have on some- 
thing else — my first knowledge of the intruder being the 
appearance of a pair of gaiters just aft of the pig. 

"I'm looking for the superintendent," quoth he, affable 

"Then cast your bonny blue eye in my general direc- 
tion," I remarked, not to be outdone in conversation. 

"You ?" 

244 The University Magazine 

"So says the payroll at the present moment." 

"But where is Mr. Henderson ?" 

"Possibly hunting the ferocious goldfish in the wilds of 
Canada, but I think he is sick. What can I do for you ?" 

"He wrote me last Spring that I could probably get a 
job here for the summer and learn a little of the lumber 
business. Do you know anything about it?" 

I denied it with some heat, my eye on the gaiters. Why 
a man wanted to wear those things in the summer time 
was one too many for me. 

"But," said I, "we are short of men, and there are plenty 
of jobs. You might pick up something if you keep an 
eye open. Come down in the morning." 

"Eight o'clock?" 

"Maybe, but six looks better around here," I returned, 
and felt a sudden chill in the ozone. Was I to have this 
added to all my other troubles ? 

I might have been guilty of some idle chatter to the boys 
in the office after the new man had picked up his trunk 
and departed to the hotel, but next morning a bunch of 
us were leaning against the yard engine — an amiable ca- 
yuse — listening to Jameson cussing the new chap, whom, 
by the way, the Swede had decided to call "Gaiters" for 
a very obvious reason. 

"I went up to the hotel last night to see Doc, and that 
d — d city fellow was in there talking to him. I noticed 
a cut on the palm of one of his hands, and just to be socia- 
ble I asked him what it was. He said that one summer 
he was out west and saw a range rider reach down from 
his horse, grab a rattlesnake by the tail and snap his 
head off. He tried it the next day and got hold of the 
wrong end. ISTow I wonder if — " 

He broke off as he saw Mc Cloud coming across the 
bridge. "Gaiters" had bought a pair of overalls that were 
too big — I never saw a pair that were a fit — and had 

The University Magazine 245 

sewed up one leg to fit him and rolled the other one up. 
It was regular sawmill sewing, but I saw the Swede was 
none too cheerful at the sight. The boy had a voice like 
the planing mill whistle — only sharper — and when he told 
us good morning, I saw the foreman trying to get under 
the engine. I put the boy to work on one of the gangs, 
saving stickers, and left him up on the dock solemnly 
pulling up "outs" from the shines on the pile. Roads 
told me that night that he was a good worker, but had a 
disconcerting habit of standing on his hands when stickers 
were flowing slack. Regarding that habit, I was somewhat 
flabbergasted myself to see him up on top of a moving 
box car with his feet pointed at the sky. The shines 
thought he was the best ever, and big Ed told me he though J; 
Gaiters ought to go into a circus. 

There was no denying the young sprout had a taking 
way with him. Pretty soon everybody in town knew him, 
and most of them liked him. He borrowed one of the 
two hundred banjos in the place and would sit down in 
front of the commissary and tickle the thing every even- 
ing. He made a shine fall off a foot log with a sack of 
flour. The Swede never liked him, and took every chance 
he had to "ride" him. No one could understand the fore- 
man except when he swore, which was with great fre- 
quency, and who might blame the boy for bringing a jack 
when sent for an axe ? Such little things irritated Jame- 
son, for knowledge of English was a tender spot in his 
make-up. He got a little satisfaction when he saw a log 
that Gaiters was trying to ride dump the tenderfoot in 
the pond. But I am getting away from my story. 

I was engaged one day in telling a green lumber man 
that the climate in and around Sunburst was unsuitable 
for his health and complexion, and was persuading him 
to go and get his time, when what should come tearing 
down the track but a company motor-car with Doc Eddy 

246 The University Magazine 

in the saddle. He hardly took the trouble to stop the en- 
gine before he filled my ear with the tidings that the woods 
around Lost Cove were on fire, and would get the long 
trestle if we didn't hurry. I sprinted to the mill and hung 
on the whistle cord long enough to blow the fire call, and 
when everybody came tearing up to the main dock I loaded 
two transfer cars full of men and stuck a few on the 
engine. Soon we were burning the rails into the hills, and 
talk about a wild ride ! Stranger, hush ! Deb opened the 
throttle as far as it would go and never put the shovel 
down. We may have lost a few men at the turns — those 
who couldn't stick to the flat cars — but we never stopped 
to see. Pretty soon we began to feel the fire, and it felt 
anything but good. The water in Big Wilson began to 
look murky and the air felt dusty and hot, with ashes 
floating all around. Then we rounded a shoulder. 

Far down a straight stretch of track the fire was playing 
the mischief in a poplar pocket, and coming down on the 
big trestle like mad. The land was a sort of muskeg there 
and a long trestle bridged it — a million feet of timber. If 
the fire got to it, the trees on Lost Cove would never be 
cut. And then there was quite a bit of steel up that creek. 

We piled off and went to work back-firing. The woods 
crew was there, and Simmons, the forester, had a few more 
men down the track a piece. Neither we nor the woods- 
men made much headway, for the woods were dry, and 
a stiff wind was blowing. The eternal crackle, flames ris- 
ing and scorching everything, birds and rabbits and even 
a snake or two trying to get away from the blaze, and men 
running about in the thick smoke made a fearful picture. 
Several men caught fire, for the heat was so great no one 
could keep his clothes wet, and the men I sent to kill the 
sparks on the trestle had to give up the job. That bridge 
was doomed from the first, and pretty soon we had to leave 
the place and fire further down the track to save the first 

The University Magazine 247 

camp. I called everybody in and started on to the engine, 
and was just climbing up in the cab when somebody gave a 
yell and pointed toward the trestle. The fire had taken 
hold and a narrow, rapidly spreading belt of flames girdled 
its middle, but the real cause of the yell was the sight of 
Swede Jameson at the other end of the bridge waving at 
us. He was near the other end completely surrounded by 
fire. In front was the belt of flame separating him from 
us, behind many of the ties were already ablaze, while on 
both sides the fire was raging in the undergrowth in the 
low ground of the swamp. There was but one way out of 
the place, and that was to drop to the ground, about twenty 
feet, and run the gauntlet of the fire in the bushes; he 
might get to the creek that way. I was about to call to 
him to try it, when I heard a put-put-put behind me and 
saw a crew motor shoot past and run out on the trestle. 
Right at the fire it went. Had I had head enough right 
then to think I would have known that the bridge had not 
burned through and would bear the weight of the light car. 
But I danced around like a pickled Indian, and when a 
man told me it was Gaiters driving the car, I danced the 

Into the blaze went the car, and as it disappeared I 
swore that as far as I was personally concerned McCloud 
could wear spats in heaven and I would not raise a kick if 
I got there and saw him. I didn't see how the car could 
possibly get through the fire again, and was mentally pic- 
turing the setting of two pairs of broken legs, when, after 
what seemed an eternity, the motor shot out of the blaze, 
the two men lying flat, and tore down on us. When it 
stopped Gaiters had just enough life to get off and cough 
something about water. The Swede was completely gone, 
but came around after some "mountain dew" and Big 
Wilson water had combined in his interior, and was well 
enough to go on to town with Gaiters. I don't know what 

248 The University Magazine 

took place between the two during the ride, but when I 
had gotten the firing well under way and things were look- 
ing a little better, I bestrode a motor and returned to town 
to see how everything was there. I found Gaiters on the 
hotel porch nursing a burned hand. He had lost some hair 
and most of his eyebrows and lashes, but otherwise, he 
said, he was feeling well. I told him what I thought of him 
and went on down the walk to the office, where I found 
the Swede. I accosted him thus : 

a Some little kid, Gaiters is, eh ?" 

The big foreman snarled. 

"Yes, he is. You know what that bonehead did ? You 
thought the fire got me, didn't you ? Thought I was a baby 
to let the smoke make me take the count, eh ? Well, I 
wasn't. Know what that boob did ? I wasn't fool enough 
to go back through that fire with him, and he soaked me 
behind the ear when I wasn't looking and took me along 
anyhow. Suppose that bridge had gone through ? If his 
brain was a spike, it wouldn't take a tooth off a band-saw." 

I indulged in what Henderson might have called an out- 
burst of fiendish glee. The Swede just sat there and glared. 
He never stopped hating McCloud for that sleep-producing 
punch. And now I'll leave it to you, stranger, if that 
ain't a glarin' example of the cussed side of human nature. 

The University Magazine 249 



O muse, sing of the shrouded past 
And bring to me again, 

More sordid stories of that vast 
Array of dragon men, 

Who sprang from teeth that Jason tore 
From some fell monster's jaw, 

That lurked on peaceful Greece's shore 
And knew not life nor law. 

Go knock at Delphi's sacred bower 
And bid the past unfold, 

If some who put their trust in power 
Are not from those of old, 

Who found themselves with armor clad, 
But no one near as foe, 

And for that reason waxing mad, 
Each smote his brother low. 

250 The University Magazine 

Cfmpel i>M««if)at ft 3s 


Chapel Hill is an idyllic spot which can be found only 
after years of search and sympathetic indulgence. The 
majority of people living in Orange County never find it. 
One must overlook many a metropolitan tendency if one 
intends to attain to the inmost precincts of this picturesque 
village. Picture shows with two machines each and with 
good pictures once in a while, department stores — first 
floor and basement, telephone system — available for four 
hours on week days and one hour on Sunday, railroads — 
two trains with two cars each (except Sunday), and other 
such citified institutions, I say, must be overlooked. 

Why it is called Chapel Hill is insignificant, because 
there are thousands of hills with chapels on them, and this 
probably wasn't the first in the series. It is quite old, how- 
ever, as they say it has been here several thousand years — 
ever since the triassic sea subsided back there in the pleis- 
tocene, or some other age. And it is just as it was then 
except for the addition of a few houses and paths and 

Of all the houses that can be found in this idyllic com- 
munity, the home of the country club is the most character- 
istic of the early school of Chapel Hill architecture. Of 
course it is on a hill, and the view is superb, as it is from 
all the hills one writes about. The structure faces every 
way. The dancing piazza is on the east side. The golf 
course runs dangerously close to the north end of it and the 
amateur golfers in their plaids, (always their clan plaids), 
frequently infringe on the rights of the fragile windows 
on the west side of the north wing, as they are laboriously 
putting the unmanageable little corrugated spheroid up 
the hill for the third green. The golf course isn't exactly 
like those in the flower catalogues nor like those at Pine- 

The University Magazine 251 

hurst and Palm Beach. The grass is never "close cropped" 
and rarely mowed at all. 

The interior of the club house is by no means rich and 
gaudy. There is, however, a grand piano (1895 model) 
and a victrola. The windows have to be propped open with 
sticks. The light is furnished by an oil lamp. The only 
refreshment that may be had is tea. The golfers find it 
very refreshing, after consuming an hour or two in going 
around the nine-hole course, to stop in and get a drink of 
tea. Those not golf-inclined walk out at five to partake 
of that delicious beverage. They walk. One doesn't ride 
in automobiles in Chapel Hill. They smack too much of 
the nouveaux riches. ISTor does one ride in carriages, be- 
cause they seem too much like certain would-be aristocrats. 
Thus they have of necessity gotten the habit of walking. 

Everybody carries the baby. Babies are very much the 
rage, you know. There are more baby-carriages in Chapel 
Hill than the combined number of automobiles, carriages, 
and wheelbarrows. Grave old professors, jolly old women, 
young instructors and their wives — in fact everybody (ex- 
cept a few conservatives) pushes the pestiferous perambu- 
lators. Anybody who didn't know might think this is a 
kind of fairy land. There are so many babies here that 
no one has to ask, "Is there a little fairie in your home ?" 

The number of inhabitants is so small, that everybody 
knows everybody else. And everybody, of course, there- 
fore, talks about everybody else. Of course the conversa- 
tion occasionally drifts around to Durham, New York, the 
war, and even Benvenuto Cellini, Leonardo di Vinci and 
Carmen, but then the spice of gossip is lacking. 

In the oldentimes there were rare bits one could talk 
about, such as the suicide of a professor in the bell tower 
of the Episcopal Church ; the installment of the telephone, 
the "carpet baggers" and their parvenu wives. Now the 
only new thing to happen soon that one can talk about is 

252 The University Magazine 

the great eastern transept of the Episcopal Church which 
is to be erected in 1957. This church is an obsolescent, 
picturesque, awe-inspiring old pile, especially when the 
wind comes through the cracks under the windows and the 
preacher preaches on and on, and the choir sings on and 
on ! The exterior is a fine background for pictures. There 
are other churches in the village which have pink and blue 
windows and flaring (or dim) lights. 

After one gets into the heart of the business section, one 
can notice the ever present solitude, save that ever and 
anon, a jitney of Jack Sparrow's scurries past as if it were 
in a hurry to get out of the "solemn stillness." And some- 
times the heavy silence is interrupted by a loquacious stu- 
dent who appears before the drug store to loll in the quies- 
cent mid-winter sunshine, or the summer shade (according 
to the season). 

Adjoining the town, there is a University which covers 
a few thousand acres. It and the town are entirely separ- 
ate. It seems to hold itself in a sort of aristocratic aloof- 
ness from its surroundings. It is an old and awe-inspiring 
place with graves here and there, and hundred and fifty- 
year-old buildings, and much tradition. Certain elements 
of its traditional individualism, however, are fast disap- 
pearing with increase of co-educationalism and profession- 

Some people regard the University as a place of what 
Nietzsche would call "haughty intellectuality," or in every 
day parlance, a place of literary "highbrows," but this 
opinion is groundless. 

A freshman once said (or will say, I've forgotten 
which) : 

Sweet are the uses of the University, 
Which like the Prof. . . . 
Finds good in trees, sermons in books, 
Stones in brooks, and tongues in everything. 

The University Magazine 253 

There is an athletic field on the University grounds, 
which, with a couple of concrete grand stands and a run- 
ning track, is called the Emerson Park. Some very naive 
little signs may he seen defiantly driven up among the 
broomstraw just off the Raleigh road — "This Way to Em- 
erson Park," and a little further on "Park Cars Here." 

Not far from this scene one may find several "places of 
interest near the University" (if one tries long enough). 
These have very pretty names, such as Morningglory 
Spring, Dromghoul's Tomb, Glen Burnie, Piney Prospect, 
etc. From no point east of the Mississippi have I felt the 
same sensation that came over me from the summit of 
Piney Prospect. This sensation is one of isolated exulta- 
tion in the glories of North Carolina. To the southeast 
one sees Raleigh, the center for hundreds of years of North 
Carolina culture ; to the east, Durham — a monument to 
the progressiveness of North Carolina; and to the west, 
Chapel Hill and Hillsborough, the centers of learning and 
history of North Carolina. One can see and feel the broad 
panorama of the actions of our forefathers. The Raleigh 
road winds in picturesque redness in the manner of revo- 
lutionary roads of the "Colonies." Nothing human is in 
sight except on clear days when Durham shocks the viewer's 
finer contemplative sensibilities. The sensation is similar 
to that felt on the summit of Mt. Evans (Pike's Peak has 
too many "newlyweds" and other sight-seers to let one for- 
get the nearby trivialities and look off and imagine and 
feel the greatness of the Nation.) Mt. Evans alone gives 
one a national feeling which is comparable to the Piney 
Prospect exultation in our own commonwealth. 

Just west of Chapel Hill is Carrboro, where dwell peo- 
ple whom one doesn't know. There, also, is the railroad 
station. Its importance is, and though it is at least three 
times as large as the Old South Well, about a month is re- 
quired to get as many customers for it as the well has daily. 

254' The University Magazine 

Rousseau would have enjoyed a simple life in moss- 
covered, (not ivy-covered, as ivy grows in a few years, 
while moss requires centuries), Chapel Hill. The place 
is a vast solitude. It is an island, an isolated lighthouse, 
a grove of intellectuality whose very trees "seek the soli- 
tude of the sky," whose streams sing of its past, and 
whose springs sing of its future. 

The University Magazine 255 

Hfe &tofeemng 


For the fifth time Henry Deal absently pulled out his 
watch, taking a cursory glance at it; then, like the dozen 
other passengers waiting before the tiny station, shifted 
his gaze to the chalked schedule, and thence to the blank, 
shimmering rails which threaded into the distance. 

"Why are trains forever late V he frowned. "Guess it 
hardly concerns them that I must be at the laboratory at 
once. My! But I was lucky in securing this new speci- 
men of the coleopteron. Now if I can only establish it as 
a genuine crotylid it will conclusively prove my theory — " 
And thus he lapsed into a profound consideration of the 
hobby of his purely scientific life, bugs. 

Some people would have pitied Deal, had he been ob- 
trusive enough to force himself into their thoughts. But 
his policy was strictly "laissez faire," and his reserved 
manners coupled with a total preoccupation in things sci- 
entific caused him to be left wholly at peace in the con- 
tinuance of his researches. For five years after gradua- 
tion he had delved unceasingly into endless fields of work, 
rarely giving thought or time to silly pleasure and idle 
waste. Wealth had come as a matter of course, leaving 
him free to satisfy the desires and whims of a scientific 
mind. Among the mass of technical words that he was 
continually juggling, no space was ever found for the 
word "Romance." Deal persistently dodged pretty girls as 
if they were boa constrictors and satisfied his bachelor- 
hood by wedding himself to science. 

The sonorous basso of the nearing train failed to reach 
his engrossed mind, nor did it portend the revolutionary 
experience that in a few minutes fate had destined him to 
undergo. The city "special" loomed into the station and, 
with seeming reluctance, came to a stop. Deal awoke to 

256 The University Magazine 

the fact that the delay in examining his new specimen 
was soon to be at end, and carefully fastening his speci- 
men case, he clambered aboard. In a brief half hour he 
would be able to make a microscopic inspection of his 
prize and perhaps definitely prove its association with the 
crotylid species. This would make a forceful argument 
in that new treatise and would show Dr. Weizer that some- 
body else knew a thing of two about this class of Insecta. 

His progress down the aisle and his thoughts were 
simultaneously interrupted. 

"This is Henry, is it not ?" a silvery voice queried close 
beside. Turning, he stared vacantly into a blur of brown 
curls, fur, and eyes. He did not realize the portent of 
the question or its objective until, embarrassed, he dropped 
his eyes and beheld a slender hand extended toward him. 

"Yes, I am — this is Henry — but ?" 

"Oh ! I was not quite sure. I am Julia, of course, and 
I'm so glad to see you !" 

The small hand captured his, pressing it firmly, and the 
twinkling brown eyes smiled upward, confusing him hope- 

"But— but where—?" 

His "have I met you ?" was interrupted. 

"Oh ! Mother stayed at home, fortunately." A gleeful 
laugh supplemented her approbation of mother's action. 

"But are you — have you — ?" 

"Yes, I am all alone, and I have a whole seat up here 
by myself. Let us hurry before someone gets it." 

She whirled away and tripped down the aisle, leaving 
the dumb-founded scientist in a haze of perplexities. Who 
was she? Who did she think he was? What should he 
do ? Turn and flee into the next car ? "No, he must not do 
that. It would be cruel to desert the young lady without 
any explanation whatsoever. It would even seem coward- 
ly. He must follow and enlighten her as to his identity. 

The University Magazine 257 

This conclusion reached, he composed himself, nervously 
adjusted a pair of amber rimmed glasses, and pursued the 
mass of brown fur ahead. She was already seated when he 
reached her. The volley of questions, "Ohs," and "Don't 
you knows" that greeted him completed dispersed the 
concise apology that he had formulated along the aisle. 
He stood hesitating a moment, while she waved an indica- 
tory hand to the vacancy beside her. Realizing that he 
must perforce seat himself or appear ridiculous to the 
eyes about him, he slipped stiffly into the chair's green 
depths, and concentrated upon the stream of animation 
that was flooding him. 

"I was so afraid you would not get my letter in time," 
she was saying, "and that I would have to go to the city 
all by myself. It is so terrible for a girl to have to find 
her way in a big town alone. Don't you think ?" she sup- 
plemented with an appealing look at him. 

"Yes, indeed — " began Deal, although previous to that 
moment he had given hardly a thought to the abilities or 
shortcomings of the other sex. 

"And of course I was extremely anxious to meet you, 
having heard so much about you, and we being cousins — 
I hope you won't get bored with me, being such a studious 

"Certainly not. How could one bore, be bored — at — at" 

Deal had a vague intention of passing a compliment, 
but he was rescued in his floundering. 

"Do you know, I had no idea what you would be like," 
she interrupted. "But I had a foolish impression that 
you would be a dignified, reserved — old professor!" 

She burst into a low laugh, displaying a double row of 
pearly teeth, then cast an appraising glance at him. 

"But I trust that you were not justified in your impres- 
sion," he replied, smiling in turn but wondering in appre- 

258 The University Magazine 

"Oh no! Certainly not! If I had, I never would have 
mentioned it." 

Deal caught himself feeling relieved. His desire to 
flee dispelled, he 'began to wonder if it would not, after 
all, be best to maintain his strange identity until they 
reached the city. It would save embarrassment during 
the rest of the trip, for he could hardly leave now, even 
after an explanation. He became aware that two girls 
across the aisle were laughing and peering toward him. 
Did he seem ludicrous ? His pride revolted at the thought 
and he resolved to conduct himself more freely. He 
reverted to the new experience that he was encountering. 

"Isn't today warm though?" Julia was saying. 

"Yes, indeed," he replied, glad for an opportunity to 
respond. "Can't I raise that window higher for you ?" 

"Please, for it is real close." 

Deal leaned over and grasped the window. As her hair 
came into proximity with his face, the elusive odor cf 
violets assailed his nostrils. He shoved the window up and 
dropped back upon the soft plush. 

"Thank you ! That is grand !" Julia cried. 

A gust of air whipped a dozen strands of hair across 
her laughing countenance. Deal began to regard her with 
the scrutiny that characterized his examination of in- 
sects. The more he looked, the more favorable was his 
impression of this specimen of the "genus femineus." 
She struck him as being of a distinct type, like a kind 
of rare species. 

"But tell me something about yourself," she continued. 
"I am sure your work is real interesting, is it not ? What 
is that leather box for?" 

Deal smiled at this display of interest. 

"That is my specimen case. I put the various insects 
that I find, in it. I have just been fortunate enough to 
procure a very rare beetle, a coleopteron, which I believe 

The University Magazine 259 

to be of the crotylid family. It has generally been con- 
sidered an arachnid heretofore." 

"How interesting!" Julia interrupted. "And what, do 
you feed them?" 

"Oh! We don't raise them; we just examine and pre- 
serve them," Deal hastened to explain. Julia laughed 
heartily, and the scientist, now wholly at ease, joined in. 

The train's arrival in the city suspended their discus- 
sion of bugs. Deal appropriated Julia's luggage and 
guided, or rather followed her through the station throng. 
The new role of cousin was fast becoming less irksome. 
He took delight in summoning a cab and in assisting his 
charge therein. He was nonplussed as to the address, but 
Julia rescued him by directing the chauffeur in a clear 
brief tone that caused the scientist to "wonder if she was 
not entirely competent to care for herself, even in the 
big city. He placed himself beside her with growing ease, 
immediately forgetting the din of the surrounding metrop- 
olis. As they sped through the crowded traffic, her ani- 
mated discussion of trivialities, the freshness of her ap- 
pearance, the radiating smile, all were absorbed by the 
pleasure-starved bug hunter. She was exhilirating. There 
was a contagion in her impulsiveness, in her joviality. 
Her presence accounted for his pounding heart, for this 
novel delectation wholly unrelated to science. He tried 
to analyze this emotion, deciding that the nearest resemb- 
lance among his experiences had been when he discovered 
the division of a low order of crustaceans into seven 
thoracic segments. 

But a dull apprehension seized him on remembering 
that he had no right to this experience, that he was under 
false colors. In a few minutes he must explain. Then 
what would happen? He visioned a surprised, angry 
maiden, a stamp of the foot, a curt dismissal. This was 
the extent of his knowledge as to their reprisals. 

260 The University Magazine 

"Look at Highland Park!" Julia was saying. "What 
a lovely fountain ! And that poor, crippled child !" 

"Wonderful ! — pitiful !" Deal supplemented. 

He realized that they were already in the residence sec- 
tion, that the address, East Courtland, was only three 
blocks beyond the park. He must make an apology. 
Vaguely, he attempted to phrase an excuse that would ap- 
pease such a sprightly young person. He was on the point 
of utterance when the cab swung to the curb and stopped. 

"Home again!" Julia cried, springing out as the door 
opened. "Do come in and stay a while, cousin, and meet 
Dad, and Aunt May — " 

The scientist's face paled at the idea. 

"Oh, no! It is impossible. I must be at — at the 
laboratory immediately. Important work — 

"Well, goodbye then. I must not detain you longer." 

Deal made a supreme effort to explain himself. 

"But forgive me if — Please allow me to — " 

"Oh dear, yes !" Julia intercepted. "Here is my card, 
come when you want to. And by all means don't forget 
me, cousin Henry." 

An intoxicating smile, a flurry of skirts, then a final 
wave of the hand, and she disappeared through a massive 

Deal sank back into the cab, wavering between relief 
and disappointment. He had not disillusioned her. If 
he had enlightened her, she would surely have dismissed, 
him in anger. He was lucky to get off so lightly. Since 
she knew not his name, a discovery of her error would 
make little difference. 

The specimen case stared at him from the foot of the 
cab. Heavens ! He had entirely forgotten the coleopte- 
ron ! The inspection had been delayed for almost an hour ! 
How foolish, that he should have allowed a mere girl to 

The University Magazine 261 

intrude upon his work so ! He would forget the incident 
and hurry to his belated work. 

The deepening night, a time for the inauguration of 
care-dispelling pleasure and relaxation from routine, 
found Henry Deal enveloped in a formidable array of 
scientific paraphernalia; the room, (half study and half 
laboratory), overflowing with leather tipped books, speci- 
mens, glass cases, microscopes; and encircling him, a con- 
fusion of drawings, scrawled foolscap, incompleted trea- 
tises, and references. He had ceased writing, elevating 
a tousled head from his bent shoulders, and staring va- 
cantly through the inevitable amber rimmed glasses. He 
could not write ; his mind revolted, slipped away into other 
channels, floated in a hazy dream, until — he was painting, 
sketching, outlining the contour of her face, the curve of 
her cheek. It was all so indefinite, so elusive; nothing 
distinct, except the rippling laugh and the perfume of 
violets. One moment he would have an almost perfected 
image, the next it was gone. Then followed a relentless 
effort at rebuilding. 

What a contrast to endless delving into musty books, 
and collecting insects! It was like stepping from a black, 
damp cellar into the mellow warmth of an evening sun. 

Drifting unconsciously from one reflection to another, 
his mind bumped into a reality. She did not even know 
him ! He had no claim, no right to his familiarity with 
her. She thought him someone else, a cousin. Then 
there must be such a person, for he was to have met her 
on the train ; he might be with her now ! If so, that meant 
exposure of his duplicity. He would be thrust out of her 
life as an impostor ! What a harsh climax to his enchant- 
ing dream. He must reveal to her the truth at once. The 
logical act was to confront her without delay, no — to 
write, send her a confession, an explanation. 

Deal mopped his brow, and having made this decision, 

262 The University Magazine 

proceeded with all haste to enact it. He rummaged the 
desk, but no writing paper was to be found, only heavy 
uniform sheets of drawing paper, and foolscap. This 
must serve his purpose. Dividing a square of foolscap, he 
plunged into the task. A goodly quantity of time and 
foolscap were expended before arriving at a satisfactory 
communication : 

Dear Miss Julia: 

Since leaving you this afternoon, without dis- 
closing a mistake that I foolishly permitted to 
exist, I have become so ill at ease that only an 
explanation will satisfy my qualms. I tremble 
to wonder what you will think of me when I 
tell you that I am not your cousin Henry, whom 
you mistook me for on the train. Will you for- 
give me for taking advantage of you in this man- 
ner ? Can I still be, if not your cousin, at least 
your friend? HENRY DEAL. 

He scanned the note with the critical eye with which he 
always scrutinized his expositions, and satisfied as to 
brevity, clearness, and forcefulness, addressed it. Then 
he rang for a servant, and an automaton appeared. 

"Reginald, deliver this note and wait for an answer. 

Reginald, looking at the address as he departed, gasped 
in astonishment. 

Deal waited an interminable space of time. It seemed 
that the reply would never come. Doubts and fears began 
to assail him. Of course she would not be at home. Per- 
haps he had been too presumptuous in sending such an in- 
formal communication. She might even be betrothed, or 
— married ! His note might involve, implicate her ! But 
no, that was impossible, she could not be married. She 
had not acted that way. 

The University Magazine 263 

He stepped to a cabinet and took out his specimen 
of the coleopteron. He must divert his mind by work. 
The treatise had scarcely been touched, many points about 
the arachnid were to be cleared up. Placing it upon the 
desk, he intently eyed it through a small magnifying glass. 
He was compelled to grasp the silver rim with both hands 
in order to steady it. A rap on the door interrupted, and 
Eeginald strode pompously in. 

"The reply, sir." 

The scientist wheeled about, rudely displacing the in- 
nocent beetle. With nervous fingers he tore open the blue 
linen square. The odor of violets assailed him as he read : 

Dear Cousin Henry: 

Your frank, sincere note impresses me greatly. 
It forces me to acquit myself with a confession 
in return. What will you think of me when you 
learn that there is no "Cousin Henry" ? "Good- 
ness!" you will say, "The audacity!" Never- 
theless, it is true. Perhaps you noticed two girls 
across the aisle on the train. Well, one of them, 
Polly Veering, noticed a distinguished, profes- 

sorly looking young man, with "Henry " 

written upon his luggage, getting aboard. She 
dared me to speak to him, and of course I could 
not take a dare, I thought of calling you 
"Cousin Henry," expecting you to deny it, with 
the conventional exchange of apologies. Since 
you "called my bluff," I am not a bit sorry ! Are 


After reading it the fifth time, Deal reclined back in 
his chair, gazing long at the ceiling — and the coleop- 
teron, possibly offended at its neglect, was left unretrieved 
from its precarious situation near the foot of the scientist. 

264 The University Magazine 

i^ong; to a Xabp 


When stars in jovial splendor peep 
Within the curtain of my sleep 
And shine their gilding stream on me, 
The light they bring from out the skies 
My fancy traces to thy eyes 
And (sweeter thought than Paradise) 
I dream 'tis they that beam on me. 

When embers redden to their death 
And kiss me with their parting breath, 
While all the world is still with me 
That kiss for me is not from fire, 
But metamorphosed by desire 
It comes from where my lips aspire, 
And all my being a-thrill with thee. 

When music with its golden art 
Opens the flood gates of my heart 
And bids its keeper call to thee. 
My hand is then no longer mine 
? Tis thine — robbery divine — 
I lay it at thy love-lit shrine, 
And so I give my all to thee. 

The University Magazine 265 

a Hunble of War Hetters 

(continued from march number) 

Sewells Point, Va., May 21, 1861. 

~No doubt you have heard of the Battle of Sewells 
Point which came off on Sunday, 19th inst., but knowing 
that you must have received any numbers of rumors both 
true and false I will give you a brief sketch. . . . On 
Sunday morning about 10 A. M. we received orders at 
Tanners Creek to march to this point. We left there and 
got here about 12%. At 2 P. M. we were ordered to the 
battery and our captain (Colquitt) put in command of the 
Post. We went to work with an energy that despair and 
the isolation of our position alone could give, and although 
there was only one gun mounted — by quarter past 3 we 
had five on their carriages in the port holes. While we 
were thus engaged and had been hard at work for an hour 
and a quarter, a shot from the Monticello (which is the 
name of the U. S. steamer lying about % of a mile off 
the coast) tore away the blanket which we had hung over 
our port holes to keep them from seeing our movements, 
and thus they threw down the gauntlet which every "City 
Light Guard" (our company) longed to pick up. Quick 
as thought the planting of our banner and a ball from our 
cannon hurled defiance in their teeth and bade them "Lay 
on." For iy 2 hours the cannonade on both sides was car- 
ried on with unabated fury. During the hottest of the 

fray Dr. T called out to know who would go out 

in front of the embrasure and assist him to shovel away 
a bank of sand in front of the cannon's mouth. I was the 
only one to answer "I will." (I do not write this from 
any feeling of vanity, but because I know it will gratify 
you as you are I know one of my friends) . The Dr. and 
myself went outside the Fort and shovelled away, but 
the Dr. was soon called away and I was left alone ; trusting 

266 The University Magazine 

to the God of Battles for protection I resolved to retain 
my dangerous post until my task was done. When I was 
about half thro' I saw a cannon ball wending its way di- 
rectly at the spot where I stood and I fell on my face be- 
hind the pile of sand about 2 feet high. The ball passed 
immediately over me, cutting about four inches from the 
top of the pile. When it had gone over I got up and finish- 
ed my work. There were nine cannon balls shot while 
I was outside of the fort — all passing within 25 feet of 
me. This you remember was Sunday afternoon. Sunday 
night it rained all night and as we had no tents we were 
obliged to sleep in the rain and on the ground. All day 
Monday we were at work on the battery. This (Tuesday) 
morning at about 10 A. M. the Powhatan came up and af- 
ter 2 shots from her and 3 from us she retreated, our 
last shot having taken good effect. At about Sy 2 this after- 
noon another steamer came up and fired a shell at us but 
we put two successive shots into her and sent her back 
in a hurry. We are, you see, obliged to be on the look out 
all the time. But let them come. We are but 130 here, 
yet will die in defence of our post — Georgians shall never 
dishonor their flag. I am worn out with fatigue so must 
close this. Please write me often while I am here. I am 
always delighted to receive your letters. Nobody was 
hurt. I have only two unimportant wounds, one in my 
forehead just over my right eye, the other in my left hand. 
I am very well satisfied with my post. 

Fredericksburg, Va., 22 July, 1862. 
We had a hard march from Winchester to Culpeper of 
four days. After staying at C. for some weeks we started 
for this place and made the march in three days. When 
Burnside demanded the surrender of the town from the 
mayor, he was surprised at being referred to the general 
commanding the army. We piquetted on the opposite side 

The University Magazine 267 

of the river for some weeks within seventy-five yards of the 
enemy, shooting heing dropped by agreement. At last 
on the morning of the thirteenth when we had begun to 
think that probably the season would pass without the 
long-expected fight we were aroused by the long roll and 
shortly after the booming of two guns from our battery 
announced that the enemy was advancing. We took our 
positions and awaited the result of the contest in town. 
Two or three times they attempted to throw pontoons 
across the river and as often were swept back. At night 
they had succeeded in crossing — the next day they spent 
in deploying their forces and preparing for battle. On the 
thirteenth the battle opened on our right and left and we 
were unmercifully shelled. About one o'clock we got 
orders to leave and under a terrible fire of artillery we 
crossed the hill and rested behind a battery to give time 
for our Regt. to close up; we then went on after passing 
the hill, advanced over the hill in line under a hot fire; 
we were most agreeably surprised on jumping into the road 
to find ourselves behind a stone wall. Cobb's brigade had 
[been fighting there for about two hours and the enemy 
had made four charges before we got there; after we got 
there they made between four and six charges, which were 
all repulsed — the last charge was made by Meagher's cele- 
brated Irish brigade about dark — in some places they got 
within thirty yards of the wall; they attempted to batter 
the wall and brought a battery within three hundred yards 
of us; but could not depress their guns to hit us. The 
third regiment of our brigade were badly cut up — all 
field officers wounded and six captains, as they took com- 
mand in succession, were killed or wounded ; they lost one 
hundred and sixty-eight in less than five minutes. They 
were in a very exposed position. Brother F., the major, 
was wounded in the shin and foot, not seriously. Eddie 
G. was wounded in the arm. Moultrie who had just got 

268 The University Magazine 

from home was bruised in the head by a piece of shell. I, 
thank God, was not touched by a shot, though I thought 
I was two or three times by pieces of rock knocked from 
the fence hitting me smartly in the face. Our regiment 
lost sixty-two; our company lost six wounded and one 
killed — most of them were shot crossing the hill and one 
or two in our company by shells before we got in sight of 
the Yankees. Among the wounded was my mess-mate, 
Mr. T. — slightly. I am now by myself. I have a Yankee 
tent high enough to sit up in and a nice bed of barrel 
staves and straw and have a few candles ; so I am living 
in style. We entered town triumphantly the morning af- 
ter, the Yankees left one company at a time. After get- 
ting there, our company was sent out to scour the town 
and had the means of observing closely the devastations 
of the vandals ; I couldn't begin to give you a description 
— nearly every other house had been used as a hospital — 
fine furniture hauled in the street, libraries torn up, fine 
dresses ruined, and everything scattered over the floors 
and streets. But the chaps were well paid, in front of 
where we fought over a thousand of their dead lay. Our 
brigade, except the 60th and 15th regts., and Oobb's bri- 
gade fought and gloriously repulsed at that point twelve 
brigades of the enemy at least, how many more I do not 
know. They left everything behind them in town that 
a soldier could wish for ; on the field we got many a trophy. 
The fight on the right by Jackson you know as much of 
as I do. 

Bunker's Hill, Va., July 17, 1863. 
I will say that all I accomplished by our late invasion 
was to procure you the promised shoes. I succeeded in 
getting you five pairs, one of 2, one of 2%, one 3, one of 
3%, and one of 4, which you will present to the hand- 
somest lady with the largest foot that you know with my 
compliments. I hope that each one of your family will 

The University Magazine 269 

find a pair to fit them. I never have felt so low-spirited 
since the commencement of the war as I do now. We 
have just been compelled — (for want of supplies and 
ammunition) to recross the Potomac, Vicksburg has fal- 
len and so has Port Hudson. Price has been repulsed in 
front of Helena and the Yankees have landed a large 
force on Morris's Island. The next intelligence w T hich 
I look for is that they have moved eastward and are in 
occupation of my portion of Alabama. When I hear that 
to be a fact I shall tender my resignation and make it my 
duty to either kill in an honorable engagement or else 
to murder by any means in my power any and every 
Yankee I have the good fortune to meet. There is one 
thing settled that if they ever succeed in overrunning our 
country they will have to support me for I will take an 
oath that I will never work. I will steal and murder 
sooner. So long as I belong to them they shall support 
me in the best style that they are capable of. From all 
indications General Lee has determined to return into 
Pennsylvania and make one more desperate effort in order 
to retrieve the falling fortunes of our country. The Yan- 
kees fight better at home than when in Virginia. I was 
in two of the most terrific battles at Gettysburg that have 
been fought during the war. I will not attempt a descrip- 
tion as all war news has become so commonplace as to 
be very uninteresting. I witnessed many an amusing little 
incident while amongst the Dutch, who were the only class 
of people that we found engaged in farming. They have 
tremendous barns and very small houses — bake bread once 
a week and eat it cold with milk and apple butter — go 

bare footed and look as ugly as the d . As for my 

having an attack of fever the chances are against forty to 
one. I never was so distressingly healthy in my life. 

270 The Univeesity Magazine 

Some Yankee will have to shoot me yet in order to get a 
furlough. You express great concern at Stuart's being 
surprised at Culpeper C. H. We are surprised at nothing 
he does now and the army is fast losing confidence in him. 
Many thanks for the stockings which you say you have 
for me — had you given me my choice about them I think 
that I would have preferred for them to have been socks. 

The University Magazine 271 

jlWormng (glorp 


This ain't a regular story with a plot and a villain and 
everything. I'm just going to tell you 'bout a friend o' 
mine. His real name was Thor Halmond. Why Thor, I 
dunno. Maybe he was 'born in the spring when the first 
blue skies thaw the mountain snows or maybe he yelled 
so loud on his first acquaintance with this world that 
the Presberterian minister named him after the God of 

Anyway when he hit Pensacoly there wurn't nothing 
thunderin' about him. He was about twenty-four, walked 
bent over, tall and thin with great blue eyes like fresh 
opened corn flowers shining from under his rusty brown 
hat. Moreover he was squint-eyed, kept one eye wide 
open and the other half shut as if to sorter half wink at 
ye. My friend was only a mountaineer that spent his life 
wandering about the hills from one lumber ;camp to 
another. He ain't like most of these tall handsome moun- 
tain heroes, but I haven't got a feud in this tale either. 

Well, Thor came to Pensacoly and asted for a job and 
they sent him up to the camp to work with the gang 
building the log road up the mountain and every morn- 
ing you could see him leave the boarding house with his 
tin pail ; and at dark he came back again. 

He never bothered nobody and always just smiled when 
he passed with his left eye half shut and his right one wide 

In those days there wurn't many women in Pensy — 
about fifty families and all the rest of the two hundred 
odd men boarded, most of 'em at the big boarding house. 
The men would work about three months, then draw their 
pay and go to Bristol to raise hell. Most of 'em would 

272 The University Magazine 

come back later, broke and a thirsting for the mountain 
water (they went away thirsty for the dew, y' know). 

Ole man Jim Hensly had three darters and 'mongst all 
those men ye kin well imagine how the boys were sparking 
round those three gals. Every night there were crowds of 
men hanging round old Jim's arter the train come in and 
on Saterday night you'd thought there was a freak show 
up thar or something — there was such a crowd around 
those three gals. 

Some ignorant fool took Thor up thar one Saturday 
night and while the boys were breezin' round the girls 
Thor edged over in a corner and looked on. Ole Jim's 
youngest gal Lu spied him sitting by himself and cried 
out : "Great Gawd ! He's got both eyes wide open ! The 
minit the sun comes up, that left oue'll shut itself like 
a morning glory." 

Thor turned those eyes of his on Lu, who was carrying 
on mightily. 

About twelve o'clock the party got fast and furious with 
the gals a-singing and Roby Reid and his buddie Hard 
clogging in the middle of the room. Soon old Jim come 
to the door in his underclothes. 

"Be God," says he, "All of ye get to bed. Why don't 
some of ye marry me gals and quit woring me so I canna 

Then, Mac Crawford up and answered: "Alright, ole 
man, we'll settle that tonight. Let the girls choose which 
boy she wants. Everybody willin' ? 

Everybody laughed and said they wuz. 

Mag, the eldest gal, giggled and took Mac himself and 
everybody said that Mac had sure shoved his foot in hot 
hell alright. 

Then Sue picked out Milt Adams. Y' know, they call 
him Cowboy 'cause she makes him chase after the cows 
so much. 

The University Magazine 273 

Then old Jim says, "Lu, pick jour fool and come to 

Lu sorter edged around and then her eye lit on Thor 
over in the corner. 

"I'll take Morning Glory/ 7 she says and she did. 

They were married and moved in a little shanty across 
the river and you'd never see Morning Glory hanging 
round the commissary in the evenings. He'd always 
go home and anytime of day you could hear Lu singing 
across the river. 

By now Morning Glory had a joh piling lumber at the 
mill and such a worker he was ! The first year a baby was 
born and they named her Jinniveev arter a song the boss 
had on his phonograph. (It sure was a mighty purty 

Then came a boy, and Morning Glory asked the boss 
who was the biggest man in the world. So they called 
him William Howard Taft Halmond but mostly just 
Bill. I expect the boss was going by big to mean pounds 
accordin' to the picter he gave Morning Glory and what 
is hanging in his cabin today. 

For about six years Morning Glory and Lu lived across 
the river with no-thin' to bother 'em and Lu got purtier 
ever year. Her black hair was parted straight in the 
middle and knotted up behind and altho' she was sorter 
white, she had pretty brown eyes and a figger the equal 
of any woman in the country and she never used binders 
to help it. 

One day as Lu went over to the commissary a fellow 
named Matthews, agent for a box factory at Bristol, sighted 
her and he was surprised at Pensacoly having a woman 
like that, much less Morning Glory. 

Every time that fellow came up here (and he had to 
come right often) he hung around Lu with his tight- 
fittin' clothes and slick hair until finally some of the boys 

274 The University Magazine 

told Morning Glory, but he just blinked at 'em and opened 
that left eye wide, then shut it because the sun was shining. 

One day after Morning Glory had left for work, Lu 
came over to the store and said she was going to Burns- 
ville which was the next station down the line. She had 
Jinniveev with her and both were dressed in their Sunday 
clothes. That same morning Matthews went back to Bris- 
tol and Pensacoly has never seen him since. 

At noon Morning Glory came over to see the Boss, he 
had a piece of paper in one hand and was holding Bill 
by the other. 

"I'm goin' to Bristol to live. I would have took Bill 
with Jinniveev but you loved him the most. Good bye." 

And now every night when it wurn't too cold Morning 
Glory and Bill would come over to the store and sit around 
with the boys. Bill was a good sized kid and spent all his 
time playing around the mill while his dad was at work 
and on Sundays the two of them would walk down the 
Valley to where the trail ran up to the top of the Peak, 
the Peak yonder sticking its nose up above the other 
mountains and looking down on the wide valley that leads 
to Bristol. Bill was always begging his dad to take him 
up to the Peak but Morning Glory said he was too little. 
Maybe he was afraid Bill would want to go down the other 
side too, I dunno. 

Bill got sick last Spring and Miss Taylor, the preacher's 
wife, give him some cough medicine. Morning Glory was 
right worried about leaving him across the river alone, so 
he got Sue Hensly to stay wid him. 

One day she came running along the dock where we was 

"For Gawd's sake come home! Bill's a burning up in- 
side, he took the wrong medicine." 

There wasn't nothing you could do for the little feller, 

The University Magazine 275 

he just groaned and coughed all day and me and Morn- 
ing Glory sat with him. 

"Pop, where is Bristol ?" 

"It's over the mountain, Bill — up our trail." 

"And will you take me up to the Peak some day ?" 

"Yes hoy. Ill take you up to the highest top of the 

"And what's it like up thar, Pop?" 

"All the world's helow ye and ye are near Heaven, 
right near the man ahove, Billie, with the high winds 
blowing round ye and the storms helow ye — ye kin see the 
lights way down the other valley, shining most to Bristol, 
like stars." 

"Will ye really take me up thar, Pop ?" 

"Yes, sure I will and ye a good boy." 

And a smile flickered across Billie's face and into his 
eyes, blue like open corn flowers, and his lips trembled. 
Billie dreamt of the top of the mountain and the light 
went out of his eyes and they looked like dull blue sap- 
phires in which the sun lights have never sparkled. 

Morning Glory sat staring at those eyes all night and 
in the morning we made a coffin for Bill and tied it on to 
Hard Reid's mule's back with Morning Glory's pick and 

And so Bill went up to the top of the mountain. And 
Morning Glory went on about his work with the same old 
smile in his eyes but every evening when the glow from 
the sunset, which we in valley can never see, lit up the top 
of the Peaks, Morning Glory would look up there where 
Bill was lying so close to the Man Above. 

One evening as he sat fishing on the river bank and look- 
ing up at the top of the mountain he saw two people com- 
ing down the trail now dim in the shadows. And just 
when the last bit of light was fading from the skies and the 
stars were lit up in the dim blue above the mountain, a 

276 The University Magazine 

voice cried out "Pop !" And there was Jinniveev — and 
Lu ! Lu, just the same only paler, and without the sparkle 
in her brown eyes. 

Morning Glory opened his arms to them and Lu fell in 
them — they were strong arms. He put Jinniveev on his 
shoulder and with an arm around Lu, the three went home. 

And when they were in the little shanty over the river 
Morning Glory turned to the woman and said: 

"Did ye not like Bristol over the mountains ?" 

And Lu said : 

"No. Over thar, there ain't no Morning Glory." 

The University Magazine 277 


(Written on a Rainy Sunday Afternoon) 


Oh Faith, thou Kydia of the soul, 

By whom we move and blindly strive 

To work, to watch, to wait, to live — 

Be vigil till we reach the goal. 

Oh Hope, thou very nurse of life, 

Who lifts us up, who dries our tears, 

Who bears us on through fears and years — 

Aid us, oft falling. Banish strife. 

And Love ! Ah Love — immortal inspiration, 

Thou muse of work, facts, of though, of creeds, 

Mother of Life ! Thou great half-God, impulse of 

Inspire us with thy priceless contemplation. 
Three Graces of the intellectual being, 
Open our eyes and minds to freer seeing. 

278 The University Magazine 

TOje Stranger 


The old woman shivered and drew her shawl closer 
about her bony shoulder. She felt a cold gust of wind 
sweep by her, as though the door had opened — as though 
someone had entered. She swallowed nervously and looked 
fearfully around. She saw no one save the old master, 
lying sick among his pillows. It may have been the flick- 
ering shadow that the firelight cast upon the wall, but she 
felt that something was hovering about her. 

The old master kept muttering to himself. Again and 
again he counted. "Three; four; five; six." He moved 
his fingers restlessly — his gnarled and twisted fingers. She 
went over and drew the tattered quilt a little closer about 
him. He looked at her with weak and watery eyes. 
"Seven; eight; nine; ten — ten," he said gloatingly. She 
drew back — it grated on her. She had thought she was 
hardened to it. Many a wintry evening she had lain 
awake in the loft and listened to the old master below 
counting — counting — counting. She had gone to sleep 
and left him counting, as he jingled his gold. But to- 
night — once years ago at a funeral the old woman had 
heard a harsh laugh, and it grated on her, even as his 
muttering did now. She reached for his medicine; then 
changed her mind. What was the use? He always re- 
sisted. Medicine cost money ; and money — was gold. 

But he couldn't die like this ; go into eternity muttering 
about gold ; surely something would touch the good in him 
— maybe the young son would come. She started toward 
the next room, — then drew back frightened. She feared 
the cold look in the young man's eye ; the hard lines about 
his mouth ; the harsh, gutteral sound of his voice. She 
wavered; then tottered in. 

The University Magazine 279 

"What is it now, old woman?" exclaimed the young 
man, roughly. 

"Master I" The old woman's voice was high and crack- 
ed. "Couldn't you come and say a word to your father — 
he's dying." 

"Well, isn't it his time to die? He's had his day. I 
can look after his gold for him. You might tell him that." 

"But Master—" 

"Look here, old woman, get out or I'll shake the breath 
out of your miserable old bones. Let him die — and let 
me be." 

He laughed harshly as she tottered out. Then he seated 
himself at the table, and for a long time stared before 
him with hard, unseeing, half-closed eyes. Then he too 
began to count. "One ; two ; three." His eyes were glis- 
tening; a hectic flush was on his cheeks. "Four; five; 
six." His breath came between his teeth, "seven ; eight," 
— a fit of coughing seized him. "Nine, ten," he added in 
a hoarse whisper. He ran his fingers through the gold. 
He listened to the sound of it with a feverish ecstasy. He 
heard the old woman sobbing in the next room ; he won- 
dered if the old man had died. 

He began counting again, "One; two, — " a loud rap 
sounded at the door ; the young man turned half startled. 
The rap sounded again ; the young man stretched his 
hands protectingly over his gold. The rap sounded even 
louder than before, and without welcome a stranger en- 

"Who in God's name are you ?" exclaimed the young 
man. He felt strangely cold as he looked at the tall, dark 
figure. He shuddered slightly and his teeth chattered. 

The stranger was dressed in black armor and he wore a 
mask. As he stood silhouetted against the dingy bare wall, 
he looked grim and gaunt. His presence filled the room ; 

280 The University Magazine 

lie shed a stillness on the place. When he spoke, his words 
were slow, but his tone was clear as crystal. "'I am a 
stranger," he answered to the young man's question. The 
youth fancied he felt the cold breath of the stranger. 

"And what do you wish?" he hurled out. 

"I came for your father," replied the stranger. 

"You should have called earlier. I'm afraid you missed 
him," said the young man with curled lips. 

"Oh no, I saw him first," replied the stranger. 

"Tnen why do you bother me ?" said the young man. 

"I weary of old men, old men, old men — I thirst for 
the company of youth." Eagerness had crept into the 
stranger's voice. 

"I have no time for you," said the young man. The 
silence of the stranger was powerful. "I say," said the 
young man irritably, "I have no time for you." 

"You have no time for me V questioned the stranger 
slowly. "I have given you twenty-one years." 

"And who are you to give me twenty-one years ?" The 
tone of the youth was insolent. 

"I am a stranger," he repeated slowly. "But I saw 
you once before. Your mother went with me that you 
might stay. I have given you twenty-one years. When 
I come, I cannot go alone." 

"But I cannot go with you — I cannot leave my gold." 

"You cannot take your gold with you. I come but 
I cannot go alone." 

The stranger had come closer. His breath was icy. 
With a cry of anguish the young man sprang toward him. 
A wild, excited look was in the eyes of the youth; a 
deeper hectic flush was on his cheeks. He grappled with 
the stranger; he struggled — he was like putty in those 
strong, dark hands. The stranger seemed to get him by 
the throat. The young man tried to cry — it died in a 

The Univeesity Magazine 281 

hard, dry rattle. The stranger hurled the young man 
forward ; he fell with his face on the table ; he stretched his 
hands toward his gold. 

The old woman came hobbling in. She gave a wild 
cry of despair. "He is dead," she wailed. a My God! — 
the young man is dead." 

282 The University Magazine 



A piercing shriek broke the sultry stillness of the sum- 
mer night. A silence, and then the blood-curdling scream 
again rose in the air, and was wafted by the gentle zephyrs 
to the pier of the bridge where Phish O'Boyle sat trim- 
ming a toothpick. 

With out waiting a second he sprang into the oily 
waters of the Schuylkill, swam with his greatest speed to- 
ward the source of the sound, and truly, there in the deep- 
est part of the channel, a young and beautiful maiden was 
struggling to escape from a watery grave. Phish seized 
her by the hair just as she was sinking for the last time. 
Woe, alas, however, O'Boyle found the hair yielded to his 
hand, but the sweet young thing sank to the muddy bottom, 
and the would-be rescuer swam angrily to the shore with 
the wig. 

"These women rob hard working heroes of more 

medals." ^ 

— (jlarvoe. 


(Whose right to the title is guaranteed under the 
Pure Fools' and Bugs' Act.) 

I have frequently been asked, both by intelligent hu- 
mans and by freshmen, why I write poetry; and as I 
have lately been threatened with manslaughter by my 
roommate, I think it only just to answer this question 
now, lest I should be sent to the land where there are no 
eight thirty's ere, I have another chance. 

The obvious answer to the question, of course, would 
be to say that I follow the instructions given on the inside 

The University Magazine 283 

cover of Life and "Obey that Impulse." I scorn such 
'brevity and superficiality. I have exactly thirty-one reas- 
ons for writing poetry, and from this number I have se- 
lected the eight best as follows: 

I write poetry in order to keep myself awake during 

I write poetry because it gives me practice in penman- 

I write poetry because I am in love. (Telfair, Forney, 
and all ladies please note.) 

I write poetry because nobody else will submit any, 
and the Magazine must have some. 

I write poetry because it gives the exchange editors 
something to talk about. 

I write poetry because I have no courses under Dr. 
Greenlaw, and so am not afraid of what he may say. 

I write poetry because it is one of the few offenses 
against which there is no law and upon which there is no 

I write poetry — just because. 

If these reasons have not convinced you, I will be glad 
to furnish others at moderate rates. Apply early as the 
supply is limited. All correspondence confidential. To 
those who deem my case hopeless, I can only offer this bit 
of consolation : Keats died young. 

— Alfred M. Lindau. 

everybody s doing it 

The hero met the heroine. 

Her sighs were deep and long. 
The curtain fell, act one was o'er, 

Applause was loud and long. 

But ere the hero kissed his queen, 
Ere curtain hit the floor, 

284 The University Magazine 

The usher in the dim-lit rear 
Had bolted fast the door. 

And now he made a center rush, 

He jumped upon the stage. 
His hands were clenched ; his face was pale ; 

His lips were white with rage. 

"A mad man stands behind that door !" 

He shouted on the run. 
"It took my power, each inch of strength 

To save you from his gun." 

"He say's he knows a man's inside 
With his own wife — and say — 

He swears he's going to get revenge 
And kill them both this day." 

"The exits there are open ! Go ! 

Escape now ! There's the place ! 
Ten minutes time I'll give that pair 

To make a vacant space." 

Immediately there was a stir 

All up and down the aisle, 
When twenty couples rose and left. 

Do you get the drift, my chil' ? 

— Peter Wunsch, '18. 


When the English professor writes a heading for a 
theme like the one above, a concerted groan arises from 
the whole class. And not without reason, for who is there 
with imagination so keen as to be able — in New West 3 — 
to write a theme on the influence of art ? Such an opera- 

The University Magazine 285 

tion requires, in this room, the closing of both eyes, the 
pressing of the inartistic hands over the face, and a suffi- 
cient quantity of swear words to obtain the necessary men- 
tal concentration. 

After these prerequisites to the artistic temperament 
have been duly complied with, we behold our vision of art. 
This one is art in nature — a golden sunset. For of course 
every sunset is golden. We have conjured up the whole 
picture: the floating clouds, the rays which are drawing 
up water from the ocean, the prismatic display of gran- 
deur, the green valley, the lowing herds — for who ever 
wrote about any other kind of herds but lowing herds ? 
But what have lowing herds to do with a picture, a work 
of art ? We can't think clearly. We must have stayed up 
too late last night or have eaten too much supper. ISTo, not 
the latter. The first surmise is correct. We stayed up too 
late. Nevertheless, leave off the lowing herds and our 
picture of art is accurate. 

We withdraw our clammy hands from our face and 
make ready to sketch that artistic scene. We open our 
eyes. The first thing we see is a large wasp's nest. A 
new one ! We haven't seen that one before. Our picture 
of beauty is almost gone. We feel it slipping. We glance 
hurriedly around the room. There are many such wasps' 
nests. We didn't come to college to see wasps' nests. We 
have seen many of them in the woods where we live. But 
such mutilated walls as these we have never seen. Be- 
fore us is a huge sign, done in chalk. It says, "Give them 
hell, Parker!" We have no idea who Parker was, but 
from the appearance of these walls he carried out his 
orders. — W. E. Dobbins. 


It was Sunday dinner at table number twenty-two in 
Swain Hall, where seven hungry fellows were consuming 

286 The University Magazine 

the viands with gusto. Suddenly the head waiter came 
to our table and proceeded to put three more occupants 
there. One of the three was a visitor at the University. 
He was straight and vigorous, had a white mustache and 
a full, florid face. He was slightly fleshy, and was evi- 
dently enjoying the best of health. He sat down and ate in 
silence for a while, and seemed to be summing up the 
crowd. Occasionally he spoke to one or the other of his 

We left with no expectation of seeing him again, but 
at supper he was at our table and feeling fine. 

When we were settled around the board, he was smiling 

"Boys," he said, "how many of you can give the rule 
for extracting the cube root?" 

This was a surprise for I expect those of us who had 
passed first Math, hardly knew how to extract it, much 
less to state the rule. We smiled and unanimously agreed 
that we could not. Thereupon he stated to the letter the 
rule as he had learned it in his youth. He then launched 
a multitude of questions such as, "Where was the largest 
squash in the world raised ?" Then he would give a de- 
tailed answer. All the time he was smiling pleasurably, 
as if his memory were to him a thing with which to dazzle 
people, and a thing for him to enjoy as one does an amus- 
ing toy. 

He then thought of the old Blue Back Speller, and pro- 
ceeded to show that we could not "blind" him on the 
spelling of any word whatsoever. To our amazement he 
even knew the page, column, and number under which 
every word in the speller occurred. I was now anxious to 
know who the gentleman was, and upon asking his host, 
was informed in an undertone that he was Joe John Allen, 
a Confederate veteran, who was once a student under 
General Robert E. Lee, at Washington and Lee University. 

The University Magazine 287 

He said that Mr. Allen still knows the complete roll-call 
of his company in the army, and also remembers the rolls 
of his college classes. 

Meanwhile the conversation had turned to patriotism. 
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Allen, "my half brother designed 
and raised the first Confederate flag." He said this proud- 

"Uncle John," said one of his hosts, "recite us some 

The envy of the students was now aroused when Mr. 
Allen commenced reciting from Virgil in the original, and 
then immediately rendered it in the poetic English version. 
He was regarded as a prodigy already, but our wonder 
passed all bounds when he began spouting Greek from the 
Iliad, and put the real poetic fire into it. He made us 
feel the beauty of it as no one had ever done before. It 
was at this crucial moment that a verdant Freshman, who 
had a rather long pompadour, and wild eyes (but who did 
not at all resemble a poet) popped himself in front of 
Mr. Allen. He was a waiter at a neighboring table. He 
said with vehemence, "I'll bet I can recite more of Scott's 
poetry than you can !" 

Mr. Allen said not a word, but gazed the audacious 
young hopeful in the eye. The Freshman's ardor swiftly 
vanished. He now gave a feeble grin, and said, "No, I 
can't, either." Hastily grabbing his waiter he made a 
swift exit to the kitchen. We gave a howl of laughter 
which drew the glance of all Swain Hallers on us. 

After the chuckles finally spent themselves, Mr. Allen 
began in a serious tone, a Boys, learning facts, and retain- 
ing them is valuable. Don't forget what you learn !" 

He then promised to return to the University some time 
again soon, and to bring his "fiddle," with which he would 
play us some good old tunes. "Fellows," he said, "We'll 
get together and have a rip-roaring time !" 

288 The University Magazine 

As we arose from the table, I asked him what state he 
is from. "I'm from the best state in the world," he ex- 
claimed, "good old North Carolina!" 

"Where in North Carolina ?" I asked. 

"Well, sir," he began pompously, "I was born and still 
live on the Tar River, forty miles above where it burned 
in two !" In the resulting riot, I felt myself pushed into 
the same boat with the audacious Freshman. 

—J. S. Terry. 

the border sentinel 

I lay stretched out upon the ground in front of my 
tent languidly smoking a cigarette. The hot autumnal 
sun, having exhausted its scorching rays, was just begin- 
nnig to fade away in the west. I was a private in the 
North Carolina national guard, which was stationed on 
the Mexican border in the southern part of Texas. We 
had been on the border for only a month, but this had 
been long enough to utterly tire me of the monotonous 
routine of army life. There had been absolutely no ex- 
citement near us, although farther to the west some of 
the less protected villages had received light attacks from 
wandering Mexican bands, who the newspapers had chosen 
to call Villa's men. With a wish that something similar 
would happen in our vicinity, I yawned and turned over. 
Facing me now was an avenue between the tents in which 
I noticed several groups of militiamen who seemed, by their 
gestures, to be in earnest conversation. This struck me 
as being unusual ; so I decided to find out what it meant. 

While searching for my hat I observed Tom Noland, a 
private from my home town, walking briskly toward my 
tent. "Hello, Noland!" I called, "you seem to be in a 

"Hello !" he greeted. "Say ! have you heard the news ?" 

"No, what news ?" 

The University Magazine 289 

"The border sentinel from our regiment was killed last 

"Do you mean Stokes ?" I excitedly asked. 

"Yes, Stokes/' he replied, "And another man, named 
Wilkins, was killed at the same post night before last." 

"The deuce you say! Why, I have heard no report 
of it," 

"'No, it has been kept secret until this afternoon. They 
were both stabbed in the heart, and there was no alarm 
heard, no evidence of a struggle found." 

After Poland's departure I sat in my tent puzzling over 
this mysterious circumstance. I was unable to see how an 
armed sentinel could be stabbed without at least being 
given a chance to shoot or to call for help. Here, evi- 
dently, was some base form of Mexican treachery. This 
thinking of Stokes, thinking of the awful terror he must 
have felt at seeing that gleaming dagger flash towards his 
breast, thinking of the gaping wound with the following 
death agonies made me shudder. I felt despondent and sad, 
and tried to change my thoughts by looking at the picture 
of my girl. Suddenly an orderly appeared at the entrance 
of my tent; gave me a sealed order and walked away. I 
was commanded to report at eleven o'clock for sentry duty 
at the border post. As the message flashed through my 
brain, a feeling of weakness and exhaustion possessed me. 
But gritting my teeth, I shook off this fear and with a 
steady nerve began making preparations to go on duty. 

The night was hot and still. The heavens were thickly 
studded with stars, which gave a weird light and enabled 
me to see dimly as I paced back and forth. I took out my 
watch and by the aid of a small flash-light, which I care- 
fully shaded, was able to tell the hour. It was twelve- 
thirty o'clock. I had been on duty for an hour and a half. 
The stillness had been unbroken save for the occasional 
faint footsteps of the neighboring sentinel, and the grunt- 

290 The University Magazine 

ing of a hog somewhere in the darkness below me. This 
lack of disturbance created within me a suspense. Ap- 
parently no danger could be lurking near, yet I had a 
dread of something. Possibly my mind was too often turn- 
ing to Wilkins and Stokes, who on their respective nights 
had walked this same ground. Some relief was afforded, 
however, by the old hog, as he approached nearer with 
his self-satisfied grunts. I hoped that he would come up 
closer; for I felt that even the company of a hog would 
be better than this awful solitude. I thought I heard a 
groan and stopped; it was a howl of a distant dog. I 
plodded on through the gloom, reached the end of my beat, 
and retraced my footsteps. Seemingly following, and not 
far behind me, came the hog, grunting and rooting in the 
soil for morsels of food — I felt thankful for his com- 
panionship. Suddenly my foot struck a crusted spot on 
the ground. This appealed to me as being unusual, so 
I stooped to investigate and found that it was caused by 
blood. I thought of the murdered sentinels. There was a 
quick rustle behind me. Seized with violent terror I 
sprang to my feet and turned. Not ten feet away the 
grunting animal had reared upon his hind feet. From 
an empty hog-skin a man with raised dagger leaped to- 
ward me. I jumped back and fired. There was a yell; 
a fall. At my feet lay a dead Mexican. 

— Leslie Sludeb. 

The University Magazine 291 

grotmb tfje WLtU 



Last year Herschel Johnson, who never had manifested 
any particular interest in any form of athletics — except, 
perhaps, the "horse play" connected with initiations, in 
which he is generally supposed to have indulged rather en- 
thusiastically — Herschel Johnson, I say, surprised every- 
body on the campus by an article in the Magazine of The 
Value of Gymnasium Attendance. No less a surprise will 
it be to some to see an article on Politics by one who has 
a reputation of not having run for a single popular election 
in four years. 

One can hardly help believing that the condition of poli- 
tics on the campus is distressing if one has heard various 
stories — as every one has — about the last group of elec- 
tions. Briefly the case is this. There are some, (I will 
not say men, I should not say boys, and, not being a 
politician, I do not say fellows). Therefore I say there 
are some here who are thoughtlessly selling their votes! 
Some accusation, eh ? 

Well listen ! 

If one agrees to give his vote for a dollar he is selling it. 
Then if one agrees to give it in exchange for a vote in 
another election, what is he doing ? 

"Backing" a friend is natural, but when a circle is form- 
ed for that purpose alone and the different members are 
going into it as a matter of exchange (the policy is con- 
temptible and will be detested, I think) by all who realize 
that it is actually "selling out." 

The Spring elections are not far off. Let us run and 
vote cleanly and let the offices be honors instead of mere 
words that will fill up space in the Yackety Yack. 

— J. Earl Harris. 

292 The University Magazine 

the ten commandments 

I. Thou shalt have no other taskmaster before me. 

II. Thou shalt not hand in to me any plagiary, or any 
likeness of anything that is in hooks, or that is in maga- 
zines, or that is in any paper without giving reference. 
Thou shalt not bend thyself to them, nor copy them ; for I 
the Professor, thy Instructor, am a good Professor visiting 
the Library time after time ; and shewing mercy upon stu- 
dent after student that booteth me, and keep my mandates. 

III. Thou shalt not judge critically the Professor, thy 
Instructor, for the Professor will not pass him that seemeth 
too wise. 

IV. Remember at one o'clock to go to bed. Six hours 
shalt thou study and do all thy iniquities. But the seventh 
thou shouldst be asleep : in it thou shalt not do any work, 
thou, nor thy roommate, nor thy fellow-students, nor thy 
janitor, nor thy visitor that is within thy room. For about 
six hours the Professor hath made thee study thy lesson, 
and thou shouldst go to bed the seventh, and rest. 

V. Honor the Faculty and the Student Council: that 
thy days may be long on the Hill. 

VI. Thou shalt not "blind" thy Professor. 

VII. Thou shalt not trample the grass. 

VIII. Thou shalt not swipe the property of others. 

IX. Thou shalt not tell false tales on thy fellow-stu- 

X. Thou shalt not covet thy fellow-student's office, 
thou shalt not covet thy fellow-student's popularity, nor his 
ability, nor his grades, nor his "boot," nor his "bull," nor 
his "gas," nor anything that is thy fellow-student's. 

— L. H. Jobe. 

The University Magazine 293 

a reminder 

The recent Legislature of North Carolina is to be hearti- 
ly congratulated for the passage of the bill authorizing a 
bond issue of $3,000,000 for educational purposes, the 
University receiving $165,000 a year for maintenance 
during the next two years and $500,000 for improvements 
during the next five years. And all of us, both students and 
alumni, should give a vote of thanks to that honorable body 
which has at last come to the realization that the Univer- 
sity is a source of increasing service to the state along all 

Now, we cannot afford to lie down on the job just be- 
cause we have received this "much needed" and "long 
waited for" appropriation. The University must go for- 
ward and continue to increase its scope of work, we must 
develop along all lines as heretofore. In order to do this 
our appropriations must be increased from time to time 
as our field of work is broadened and extended. 

One member of this legislature, who happened to be 
on the committee to visit the Hill, hit the nail on the head, 
when in the course of his remarks in Chapel, he empha- 
sized the fact that in the past our educational institutions 
have not touched the people and hence we have not gotten 
the needed response. 

The people have hesitated to consent to be taxed for 
an educational institution in which they felt no interest. 
The legislators have been forced to accept and carry out 
the dictates of their constituents, regardless of their own 
inclinations. If any of them happened to come from a 
locality, where, for some reason or another, the people 
knew little about the work of the University, they were 
naturally careful about voting money for its support. 

It seems that the solution of the problem lies in the fact 
that we must educate the people of the state to the idea that 

294 The University Magazine 

the University helps farmers, doctors, mechanics, lawyers, 
and all classes of people. 

The Bureau of Extension has proven to he one of the 
most effective means of getting in touch with the people. 
However, other organizations, such as County Clubs and 
Alumni Associations, can be equally as instrumental in 
calling the attention of the people of the state to the fact 
that the University is an institution worthy of their sup- 

Why not see the legislators of your county, ask them 
how they stand on this matter of appropriations, tell them 
of the pressing needs of the University, and secure edi- 
torial space in the columns of local papers. Talk about 
the University's work to the people who apparently are un- 

By doing these simple and easy things and making our- 
selves a committee of one to see that they are done we can 
bring the people of the state to the realization that the 
University in order to hold its place among the foremost 
institutions in the South must receive liberal appropria- 
tions to meet its ever increasing demand. 

But why wait until two more years have elapsed to get 
busy. Let's start now and crystallize public opinion. 

— E. W. Madry. 


University of North Carolina 


Old Series Vol. 47 

No. 6 

New Series Vol 34 



Editorial Comment 297 

Land of Mount Pisgah (Poem) T. Don Luther 299 

America's Contribution to Peace A. M. Coates 300 

To Russia Oliver Rand 306 

Chasing Copy H. Copenhaver 308 

A Bundle of War Letters 316 

Under a Window at Dawn (Poem) P. B. Green 321 

War Gladys Avery 322 

To My Home /. Terry 327 

Compulsory Military Service B. B. Groves 329 

Sketches 333 


University of North Carolina 



J. A. Capps, Dialectic, Editor-in-Chief 

M. B. Fowler, Dialectic, Contributing Editor 

W. T. STEELE, Philanthropic, Assistant Editor-in-Chief 


A. M. Lindau 
Frank ClarvoE 

Albert Oettinger 
A. M. Coates 


V. F. Williams, Philanthropic 


W. S. Tatum, Dialectic 
William York, Dialectic 

The University oe North Carolina Magazine is pub- 
lished by the Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. 
It endeavors to stimulate the creative literary life of the 
University, and to give expression to it. 


University Magazine 

MAY, 1917 
Old Series Vol. 47 No. 6 New Series Vol. 34 

Cbttortal Comment 


The college publication holds a peculiar position in the 
journalistic world. The name may extend over a long 
period, but the personnel of the editorial staff changes 
once, and in some cases, twice each year. In this respect 
its life is short. The editors at the beginning of each year 
are in many instances inexperienced; they venture the 
undertaking without any definite idea of their work. After 
nine months in service they begin to get an understanding 
of what a college publication should be and how to go about 
their work in order to get out such a publication. But 
alas, they must give way to a new board, and the process 
of establishing a new paper must be gone through with 

There is no definite remedy for the situation. The only 
attempt at relief that we can think of is that at least two 
of the assistant editors come from the Junior or Sopho- 
more classes in order that there may always be men avail- 
able with a slight knowledge of the work from whom an 
editor-in-chief can be selected. 

Before this number of the Magazine reaches its readers 
a good number of the Seniors will have left the Hill and 
taken up a work entirely new to them, a work not a man 

298 The University Magazine 

among them had any idea of preparing himself for when 
he entered Carolina four years ago — that of a soldier. 
Thus the expression, "You never know one day what the 
next will bring forth/' has certainly proved a reality to 
the class of 1917. 

It is with a feeling of regret that we see them depart. 
They are our leaders in all forms of student constructive 
activity. Without them commencement will indeed seem 
hollow. We try to believe they have the good of humanity 
at heart, but still that feeling of regret won't down. They 
are our best and go to answer the call of universal free- 
dom, feeling that by remaining out of martial service they 
will fail to experience that peace of mind which accom- 
panies a well performed duty. Our greatest concern is 
that they may make worthy soldiers and that we may have 
the pleasure of seeing them every one on the Hill a year 

The University Magazine 299 

Hanb of jHount ip£gaf) 


Land of Mount Pisgah, smiling in splendor, 

Out from the borderland, mystic and old, 
Sweet are the memories, precious and tender, 

Linked with thy summers of azure and gold. 
Old North Carolina, land of my dreaming, 

Land of the lover, the loved, and the lost, 
Cherish thy legends with tragedy teeming, 

Legends where love reckoned not of the cost. 
Land of the brave, my heart's in thy keeping, 

And life's sweetest story, how can I forget ! 
Calm are the vales where silences sleeping, 

Wake into melodies tinged with regret. 
Let the full chorus of life's music throbbing, 

Swell to full harmony, born of the years ; 
Or for the loved and lost, tenderly sobbing, 

Drop to that cadence that whispers of tears. 
Land of Mount Pisgah, here's to thy glory ! 

Here's to thy daughters as fair as the dawn ! 
Here's to thy pioneer sons, in whose story 

Valor and love shall live endlesly on. 

300 The University Magazine 

America's Contribution to $eace: ?|er Justification 

ALBERT m. coates 
(Winner of N. C. Peace Prize) 

The German note of February 1st announced the re- 
newal of a ruthless submarine warfare. It was a com- 
plete rejection of the ultimatum in our Sussex note. It 
was a deliberate challenge of the principles and plan 
enunciated in President Wilson's address to the Senate. 
It bluntly asked the United States these questions : "Did 
you mean what you said in the Sussex note ? Are you 
willing to stand by the principles your president asks 
others to accept?" But it had a greater significance than 
this. It brought America face to face with a clear-cut 
issue; an issue which resolved itself into this proposition: 
Shall the United State maintain her traditional policy of 
isolation, or shall she accept the privileges and rights of 
modern international life, and their attendant responsi- 
bilities? Her decision was announced in unmistakable 
terms when Count Bernstorf was given his passports, and 
the American ambassador was recalled from Berlin. It was 
sealed with a sacred approval when, on April 4th, America 
pledged all that she was, and all that she hoped to be, 
to the support of the principles for which she braved the 
wrath of England in 1776, and again in 1812; for prin- 
ciples which alone can make peace possible, and life worth 

The action of the United States reverses a policy that is 
as old as the nation. It was phrased by Washington in 
his Farewell Address, and it became so deeply ingrained 
in the American mind that it has remained as a policy 
when the conditions that called it forth have disappeared. 
The American experiment in Democracy was a repudia- 
tion of European governments. It excited their anti- 

The University Magazine 301 

pathy, and they were desirous of its failure. An alliance 
with natural enemies would, indeed, have been an entang- 
ling alliance for us. But today democracy has established 
itself. America does not stand alone. In Europe, Eng- 
land, France, Switzerland, and Russia, have established 
governments with principles in sympathy with our own. 

Our policy of isolation was based upon the assumption 
that if the United States lets other nations alone, other 
nations will let her alone. Even if this assumption were 
sound today, such a policy is no longer desirable. No na- 
tion can live her fullest life upon a mean and narrow scale. 
No nation can cherish the selfish hope of participating in 
all of the advantages of modern life without sharing any 
of its disadvantages. Any nation actuated by such mo- 
tives is making the same mistake the ancient hermit made 
when he withdrew himself from his fellow men in order to 
live a Christian life. The United States is no hermit na- 
tion. There are now no hermit nations. And for any 
nation to attempt to live unto herself alone is to be un- 
true to herself and false to the highest interests of the 
world which is her home. 

But the assumption that actions affect none save the 
nation responsible for them is a false assumption. It has 
been shattered again and again in the present war. Ger- 
many aimed her submarine warfare at England. She 
intended it as no thrust at the United States. Yet, so com- 
plex is modern life, she could not wage this warfare upon 
England without crippling the commerce and destroying 
the lives of American citizens. We need not discuss 
whether or not this action is justified upon the ground of 
necessity, or upon any other ground. The vital fact to us 
is that it is a flagrant violation of the rights and privileges, 
not of the United States alone, but of every other nation. 

It is a refinement of folly to think we can live aloof 
from the rest of the world. When, through the instru- 

302 The University Magazine 


merits of wireless telegraphy, a message is flung into the 
air, every one who possesses the proper instruments may 
catch it. And just as the air is the elastic medium for the 
transmission of messages by wireless, so is the trade and 
industry and commerce of the world the elastic medium 
through which the jolts and shocks in any part are trans- 
mitted almost instantaneously to every other part. There 
is no chance to dodge them or escape them. 

Consequently the United States had no choice between 
independence and inter-dependence. She had no choice 
between isolation and co-operation. Modern life allowed 
no alternative. The question she was forced to answer 
was : whether she would abandon her policy of isolation of 
her own accord or be compelled to abandon it by forces over 
which she had no control. 

If the actions of other nations must result in injury 
or profit to the United States, it is only sensible and right 
that she should have a voice in determining the causes of 
her injury or profit. It is only fair that she should be 
allowed to exert some influence over the actions that are 
bound to affect her. And the only medium through which 
this influence can be exerted is through a league of nations 
in which she has a voice. 

In the shadow of the past, and amid the bitter experi- 
ence of the present time, such a league offers the only 
gleam of hope for the future of the world. It offers the 
only means for a constructive expression of national policy. 
Surely we no longer desire the sort of freedom asked for 
in Shay's Kebellion by the mob leader, when he said to 
his followers: "If you want to know what freedom is I 
will tell you. It is the power to do as you please and 
make everybody else do as you please." Such an idea will 
inevitably end in international anarchy. 

The day of isolation has passed. The independence of 
isolation is no longer possible. For, it sacrifices the rights 

The University Magazine 303 

of others, and in that case, independence merges into law- 
lessness, which leads to anarchy, and ends as it is ending 
today, in the terrible cataclysm of war. Interdependence 
of nations is the only policy that is rooted in the facts of 
life, and which can yield the fruits of peace. This inter- 
dependence can find constructive expression only through 
union: once longed for; now called for. The very selfish- 
ness which in the past has led to isolation, is today draw- 
ing the nations into a union which alone can promote their 
highest interests; where alone they can enjoy a liberty 
without license, and a freedom which begets no wrong. 

There are those who discredit the practicability of any 
form of league of nations. "How can the Germans, the 
Frenchmen, the Russians, the Italians, the Japanese, and 
the rest, live together in peace," they ask. The answer is, 
"How did they form a union upon the American continent 
150 years ago ? How are they living together in peace in 
America today?" "But," they say, "the co-operation of 
different races upon different continents is far more diffi- 
cult and doubtful than the co-operation of different races 
upon the same continent. And how can you expect to 
overcome this obstacle?" To this we reply: "In 1900 
when the Boxer Rebellion overthrew the Chinese govern- 
ment, and all foreign citizens in China were threatened 
with death, an international army landed at Hongkong. 
And the Union Jack of Great Britain, the Red, White, 
and Black, of Germany, the Tri-color of France, the Cres- 
cent of Japan, were led by the Stars and Stripes of the 
United States in the army that went to rescue the beleag- 
ured foreigners in Pekin. There was the league to enforce 
peace in operation. Again, when Germany renewed her 
ruthless submarine warfare, which was a contravention of 
the principles humanity had established, and which the 
nations had accepted, the United States, backed by the 
support of the other neutrals, made common cause* with 

304 The University Magazine 

the Allies against the aggressor, and the league to enforce 
peace is again at work. And America, presented with the 
greatest opportunity the world has yet offered to any na- 
tion, wtih no imperial design, with no material end to 
blur her vision, but desiring solely to make the right pre- 
vail, stands forth today, idealized and immortal, the 
founder of the league to enforce peace. 

I do not contend that this league will work with perfect 
success from the beginning, or that it will cause instantan- 
eous and lasting peace. But I do contend, that by granting 
to each nation a voice in determining the actions that in- 
volve her welfare wars will be reduced to a minimum. 
And if the league to enforce peace will do this, America 
is justified in the action she has taken. 

It is no argument against this legaue to say that it will 
not transform the world in an instant. That there are 
obstacles in the way of its success we freely admit. But 
these obstacles, growth and experience, will overcome. 
Every great human movement must pass through its ex- 
perimental and developmental stages. Democracy itself 
was not an immediate success. It has had its reverses and 
defeats in every land where it is now in operation. In 
England it failed at first. In France it brought anarchy 
and bloodshed in its wake. Sorrow and suffering have 
been its inevitable corollaries. But today, when millions 
owe everything to the success of this experiment, when 
millions pay tribute to its beneficence, when millions upon 
the battlefield are endorsing it with their blood, when 
America's millions have offered their lives that its prin- 
ciples may not perish from the earth, who can say that 
democracy is not worth the blood that has been shed in its 
attainment ? What words of men can discredit these price- 
less testimonials of its worth ? 

And it is this principle of democracy, which even au- 
tocratic Czar-ridden Russia has lately accepted, which 
men in all lands are willing to give their lives for, which 

The University Magazine 305 

is the impelling cause for a league of nations. It is the 
fact that America is fighting to vindicate its principles 
which lifts the carnage of the battlefield above a mere 
clash of force, and skill, which gives a sane, clear pur- 
pose to the furious passions of war, and lends a sort of 
glory to the ghastly sacrifice of human life. 

For 150 years America has stood: the crystallized hope 
of the centuries ; the dream of the world come true. Her 
very existence has been an inspiration and a contribution. 
She gave to France the confidence to assert the people's 
rights. She taught England that liberalism must govern 
her relations with her colonies. She nerved Russia with a 
mighty hope which has been lately realized in a great 

The different peoples in the United States love one flag : 
the Stars and Stripes. That flag represents the spirit that 
fuses the various races of this country into one people: 
Americans. It represents the instinct of loyalty to a com- 
mon purpose, which makes real the kinship of 100,000,000 
Americans today, that mystic spirit which men call pa- 
triotism. From the time it first flew in the American 
Revolution till in yesterday's battle it was borne through 
Von Hindenburg's lines on the Texan's bayonet, it has 
been the symbol of democracy, of justice between men. 

And in this crisis of civilization, when the grip of cir- 
cumstance is bending thought into partisan channels ; when 
the instinct of self-preservation is mobilizing untold pow- 
ers to prejudiced ends; when national bias has obscured 
calm judgment; America has stood firmly for the prin- 
ciples that have vitalized her existence. And when the 
facts of life demanded a broader application of these prin- 
ciples; when the future of the world demanded justice 
between nations ; when the courage of leadership is a great 
human venture was called for; America had the wisdom, 
the foresight, the daring, to depart from the beaten path 
of isolation and make the first great contribution to peace. 

306 The University Magazine 

Wo 5Kus&ta 


Thou mother nation from whose lonely steppes 
Have poured the ceaseless floods of human kind, 

Thou mould of men who made the western world, 
Thou giver, alas thy giving left the blind. 

Prometheus-like, through age on age of time, 

Bound fast in chains of oppression wet with tears, 

The vulture despot rent thy heart of hope, 

While meagre light has pierced the changing years. 

To warm the germ of freedom and to tell 

Thee that from thine own womb shall spring 

Thy Heracles of freedom who will tear 
Thy bonds apart — a newer life to bring. 

That time has come, that son, he is thyself, 

Thyself awakened to a richer life, 
Living a vision scarcely dreamed before, 

Conscious of power, armed for holy strife. 

Rise then, rise up ,the foe is at thy gate. 

Forget the cancerous wound which slavery's chain 
Has left to fester on thy limbs. Cut deep 

With knife of Truth. Cut deep, 'tis worth the pain. 

Slough off the old, cleave to the new. Forget 
All save the price of freedom paid in gore 

Of martyred sons, of precious lives long lost 
To light and life on the Siberic shore. 

The University Magazine 307 

Forget all else — those sacred spirits call 

To thee from out the dark and distant past 

To vindicate the cause for which they died, 
The call of freedom, and will not have passed. 

Their lives in vain. Free people of the earth 

Unite to swell the duty call to thee. 
The world is old — the times are young; 

There's time, there's work — the world shall yet be free. 

308 The University Magazine 

Cftasmg Copp 


This all happened because not even the skimpiest little 
piece of news would break, while fifty odd columns of 
the Knoxville Sentinel — and the same number of Journal 
and Tribune — yawned for filler. When the world stands 
still, the newspaper's only salvation is an anti-vice crusade. 
This is why various and sundry gentry who live by their 
wits are bewildered by reading impassioned denunciations 
of themselves in the papers at the very times they are tak- 
ing a vacation and haven't violated an ordinance in a 

The Sentinel had entered upon an orgy of reform. 
Every man on the staff was investigating some phase of the 
city's morals. Even Wyrick, the youngest cub, was on his 
way to cover his first important assignment. He was to 
go to the Union Station and see if he couldn't find out 
why girls arriving in the city needed more protection than 
they had. 

Wyrick' s A. B. degree, fresh tied with the college 
colors, was in his trunk, and ambition was in his heart. 
Visions of signed stories, of twenty-five a week, colored his 
thoughts. He was ordered to write up what he could find 
out for all it was worth. 

And he had no more than stepped into the general 
waiting room when he saw her. Evidently she was heaven- 
sent to help a young cub garner glory. On her high- 
heeled, cheap-looking pumps was a suspicion of red clay; 
powder didn't entirely conceal freckles. She was sitting 
with her legs crossed, and the thin silk of her stockings 
stopped and was replaced by humble cotton half way to 
her knees. She was reading, and as Wyrick walked past 
her, she tilted the book so that he could see the title. It 
was Ashes of Love. 

The University Magazine 309 

From time to time she looked anxiously and helplessly 
about as if she was expecting some one. She seemed be- 
wildered by the hurry and bustle of the waiting-room. 
Helplessness was written large all over her. 

Wyrick walked to and fro in front of her and pondered 
the situation. What he wanted to know now, was whether 
or not this fresh, innocent, helpless, young country girl, 
who brought Ashes of Love along to read while waiting- 
could be beguiled from the station and seduced or whether 
she was sufficiently protected. But the odious masher was 
slow about coming, and Wyrick couldn't wait all day. 

He looked cautiously around for the matron. She was 
not visible. He set his hat on the back of his head and 
hitched up his trousers. If no masher should show up, 
he'd be a masher himself. But he wished he knew a little 
more about methods. He had no idea how to go about 
seducing a young lady — absolutely none. 

He walked past her again and tried to catch her eye. 
Then he slid into an empty seat beside her. He felt about 
as awkward as he had the time he drove his first girl five 
miles with only two remarks, one, "I like rabbit," when a 
bunny had scampered across the road in front of them, and 
the other two miles further on, when a second cotton-tail 
inspired him to ask, "Ain't the gravy good ?" 

He fumbled all sorts of questions in his head. If she 
would only look at him it would be easier. She was not 
bad looking. Her freckles would have been becoming had 
they not been thrown into relief by the careless smears of 
powder. Her mouth looked as if it could easily be puck- 
ered into shape for a kiss. Her eyes were big and blue. 

It was up to him to denounce the city for insufficient 
protection for attractive visitors of this kind. He simply 
had to get some touches from life to make the instances he 
was going to manufacture sound real. 

Suddenly he blurted, "Hot, isn't it ?" 

310 The University Magazine 

The girl looked up at him. "Were you speaking to me ?" 
she asked. 

"I was/' replied Wyrick, "and I was thinking how you 
looked too much like a flower to be wilting in this old hot 

The girl looked interested. "They ought to have elec- 
tric fans, don't you think so ?" she asked. 

Wyrick nodded. "But I know a place where we can 
go that beats this, if you are going to be here quite a 
while," he suggested insidiously. 

"Oh, but I can't go with you. You see I don't know 
you. And I read in Comfort that a girl in the city ought 
not to speak to a stranger. Now, I've done talked to you." 
She looked startled at what she had done. 

"Oh, that's all right," assured Wyrick, "a good-looking 
girl like you oughtn't to take up with just everybody in 
town, but it's different with me. You can trust me." 

"How do I know I can ?" she asked tremulously. 

Wyrick felt sub-consciously that he wasn't making much 
progress with his story. Something seemed wrong with 
the method. He seemed to be on the wrong track. He 

"Oh now, Cutie, come on and be a sport. Do you think 
I could hurt you and the town full of people and a cop on 
every corner ?" 

"What right have you to call me Cutie?" she flared. 

Wyrick was uncomfortable. 

"Ah, well, you see," he stammered, "because you are 
cute — see ?" 

"I won't permit it. You shan't insult me that way — 
you a stranger. It's like Comfort said. I'll call a police- 
man. Oh, if John would only come on." 

Wyrick shifted. Little good his plea that he was a 
reporter would do if the specimen he was examining 
should call a policeman. He didn't want her to have such 
a bad opinion of him, anyhow, he decided. Her blue eyes 

The University Magazine 311 

were especially appealing when she spoke of John. He 
tried to calm her. 

"And who is John ? Your husband ?" he asked. Some- 
how he hoped John wasn't her husband. 

"'No, my brother," she replied briefly. 

"And he was to meet you ?" 

"Yes. Oh, I wish he'd come." 

"Let me help you find him. Do you know his address V 9 

Wyrick suddenly thought. Here he was away off his 
beat again. He hadn't time to succor ladies in distress. 
He was out to get color for copy — to observe the actions 
of the insufficiently protected country maiden in the peril- 
ous city. He couldn't say what he wanted to say so much. 
He must saw wood. 

"No, I don't know his address. His name's — Smith — 
John Smith. Do you know him ?" 

Good copy flashed through Wyrick's mind. "Innocent 
girls are beguiled from the station by designing villains 
who pretend to know relatives for whom the girl is wait- 

"Jack Smith," he answered, "Sure I know him. I'll 
take you right there." 

The girl rose. She had a trig little figure. 

"I don't — know," she faltered. "I may be going wrong 
to trust you" — Wyrick noted this for future use. "But 
I need somebody so bad. Maybe, even if I oughtn't to go 
with you, it will be like that poetry says over there on 
the wall." 

"If you have made a step aside, 

Some slight mishap o'erta'en you, 
Yet still keep up a decent pride, 
And ne'er o'er far demean you. 

"Time comes with kind oblivious tread 

And daily darker sets it, 
And if no more mistakes are made, 

The world soon forgets it." 

312 The University Magazine 

And she read, the walked toward the station door. Her 
voice halted on some of the words. She seemed to have 
difficulty in pronouncing them, but it was a very sweet 
voice. Suddenly Wyrick wondered what he was going to 
do with her. He was ashamed of himself for trying to 
pump her for copy. He decided to turn her over to a po- 
liceman, tell her story, and get them to look out for her — 
and he intended to get her address. For the present, he'd 
be happy. 

"I know a better poem than the one you just read back 
there," he assured her at the door. "Wait till I get us a 
pack of popcorn, and I'll tell it to you." He came back 
and offered her the popcorn. She ate it with childish de- 
light. Wyrick walked at her side as happy as he had been 
in months. 

"What is your poem V she asked. 

Little spots of color were in her cheeks. Her eyes were 
big with wonder at the crowds. She pressed close to him, 
jostled by the crowd which is forever surging along Gay 
Street. Wyrick passed one policeman. He could have 
turned her over to him, but somehow, he thought he'd have 
time to walk on around to headquarters with her. 

"Take my arm," he invited, "and I'll tell you my 

"Ought I ?" she asked. 

"Sure," he replied. 

She timidly tucked a hand nuder his arm. 

"Now," she said expectantly. 

He looked down at her and began softly. 

"See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another; 
No sister flower would be forgiven, 

If it disdained its brother. 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea. 
What are all these kissings worth, 

If I kiss not thee?" 

The University Magazine 313 

His face was close to hers as lie put the question in a 
low, pleading voice. A moment she surged closer to him. 
Then suddenly, as if she remembered something, she jerked 
her hand from under his arm. 

"Oh," she exclaimed, starting back from him. "You're 
trying to make love to me. I don't know you. What do 
you mean?" 

Out of the corner of his eye Wyrick saw a policeman 
moving majestically down the street with the human 

"Hush," he begged. "I didn't mean anything. Be 
quiet, for goodness' sake." 

But the girl seemed hysterical. She saw the policeman 
and fought toward him. 

"Oh, you wretch," she exclaimed, pointing to Wyrick. 
"Will no one protect me from you ?" 

The officer paused. "Was this fellow annoying you?" 
he asked. 

"Oh, he wanted to kiss me. He's helping me find Jack, 
and he's not nice." 

Wyrick edged away. But the big officer reached out 
through the crowd and collared him. 

"A masher, eh ?" he said. "Don't worry, ma'am, we'll fix 
his clock. You just come along to the station to testify 
against him." 

Wyrick tried to explain, but "tell that to the sergeant" 
was all the answer he got. They threaded their way 
through the throng. The girl seemed horrified at the 
thought of a police station. 

"But I'm not arrested, am I ?" she kept on saying. 

The desk sergeant looked the luckless Wyrick over 
witheringly. "A masher, eh. Well, whatche got to say ?" 

Wyrick pleaded ably for exoneration. "Here's my re- 
porter's card," he concluded. "See ?" He held up the bit 
of pasteboard. "I was gathering copy for the Sentinel. 

314 The University Magazine 

I intended to bring the girl on up here, and was saying 
verse to her." 

The girl suddenly ran to the desk. Her eyes were danc- 

"Are you a reporter ?" she asked Wyrick. 

"Sure," he answered. 

She looked at him doubtfully. "I almost believe you," 
she smiled. "I thought you were an awkward masher. 
But," she hesitated, "I don't know. If you're a newspaper 
man, you can give me a 21-unit limit two-line drop head- 
ing for this story." 

"What do you know about drop-lines and units ?" he de- 
manded amazed. 

"All right. Convince me you're a newspaper man, and 
I'll tell you. Don't try to hedge." 

The sergeant looked on in amusement. Wyrick studied 
a moment and counted on his fingers. Then he replied, 



"Good enough," she approved, "except the last part's 
not true. Sergeant," she turned to the desk man, "Can't 
you let this man off? You see I'm not really a country 
girl, but a reporter on the Journal and Tribune. I dressed 
up like this on purpose to attract a masher so I could get 
copy for a story on 'Methods of Mashers.' And he's a 
reporter, too." 

The sergeant grinned "You're the boss. Prisoner's 

Wyrick walked out with his accuser and rescuer. 

"Well," he said. 

"Well," she replied. 

"We didn't either one get much copy out of it — unless 
— it had a happy ending," he suggested. 

"A happy ending?" she asked. 

The University Magazine 315 

"Yes, a lived-happily-ever-after," he argued. "It's a 
corking good story with that end. Let's not spoil it." 

"I — I hate to spoil a good story," she said slowly. 

"This next car goes out to Culhowee Park," he said. 
"There are plenty of nice cosy little nooks out there. It'll 
be here in a minute." 

"But we were sent out for a story — our papers," she 
argued feebly. 

"But we've lived a story that beats any yet. Don't you 
see ? If you'll only let it end right, it'll be worth a raise — 
enough to rent a flat." 

She hugged his arm happily. "In this country girl rig- 
out?" she asked. 

"Sure, sweetheart. That's how I found you." 

She tugged at his arm. "We'll have to run to catch the 
car," she said. 

In the scramble for the car, Ashes of Love dropped un- 
heeded. Who worries over taking up ashes when the fire 
has just been kindled? 

316 The University Magazine 

& PutMe of Wiax betters 

Bivouac, 2nd S. C. 
Before Chattanooga, 

Sept. 27th, 1863. 

By the mercy of God I have again passed through a 
terrible battle safe and without harm ; I am truly grateful 
for without His protecting arm I never could have escaped 
unhurt and I pray that I may prove myself worthy of 
God's mercy and love. After a long and delightful rest 
after our arduous summer campaign, we received orders 
to march and from the first it was thought this place would 
be our destination. We passed through S. Carolina on 
our way here and the patriotism of troops never was more 
severely tested than in the case of our brigade; our regi- 
ment did great credit to itself and the whole brigade as 
far as I know. You may imagine what a sore trial it was 
to me. By delays on the road I would have had nearly a 
day or more at home, but I did not like to ask permission 
to leave. I was also terribly disappointed in not passing 
through H. I had telegraphed to father to meet me in 
Charleston, but he was delayed on the road, so I missed 
him too. We spent a night in Charleston and after a long 
hunt and when I had nearly despaired I found one of my 
brothers and the pleasure of sleeping in a comfortable bed. 
Some of the regiments passed just by their homes and it 
made me feel miserably when I saw mothers, brothers, 
sisters, and friends to meet them and I so lonely amid so 
much happiness. I, however, met a good many friends 
and did not allow such gloomy feelings to overcome me 
and altogether spent a pleasant time travelling. On Sat- 
urday evening we reached Ringgold and that night at 
twelve o'clock reached the battlefield; a hard fight had 

The University Magazine 317 

taken place that day. Early next morning we were put in 
position and shortly after the fight commenced, were hur- 
ried to the front. We met a plenty of captured artillery 
coming out, just as we got into line we had a splendid 
view of the U. S. colors about three hundred yards off on 
the opposite side of the field ; I expected a shower of grape 
and balls every second, but when we advanced they gave 
way before us, after some little firing with us, though it 
was heavy on the right of the brigade, we fell back a few 
yards to keep them from flanking us and laid down; ex- 
posed to their fire without an opportunity of answering 
we suffered very much. But, soon the Yankees advanced, 
when we rose and giving them a volley, charged, driving 
them before us; we reached the crest of the hill but were 
so broken, we could not hold it. Had our support been 
in its place we would have had no further trouble; the 
brigade on our left gave way also. I was on the hill my- 
self, but it was too hot to stay there long ; the colonel and 
several others were on the top. We again fell back to the 
road; but, had not been there long before we were sent in 
again, the only regiment in the brigade to co-operate with 
an advance on our left. We were going up splendidly when 
our support deliberately came in behind and poured a 
volley into us; of course it broke us and they seeing us 
getting out of their fire gave way but, their officers soon 
stopped them and going up together, we stayed under as 
hot a musket fire as I have ever been under for two hours. 
Had we some of the Virginia army to have supported us 
there would have been no trouble; these Western troops 
don't know how to fight Yankees. 

2nd S. C. Regiment, 
Before Knoxville, 

Nov. 30, 1863. 

After the battle of Chickamauga I wrote you a long 
letter. After a long and very unpleasant stay in front of 

318 The University Magazine 

Chattanooga where we were successively flooded and 
starved out, we, to the joy of all, received marching orders 
and after some delay took the cars and were landed at 
Sweetwater; from there we marched to London and 
crossed the Tennessee on pontoons; the enemy gave way 
before us, though Jenkins had a skirmish the evening after 
crossing and one the next day. We did not meet with 
them until we reached the junction of the two roads that 
lead to Knoxville; though we did not use small arms we 
followed them up under one of the briskest and most ex- 
citing cannonades I ever witnessed. The next evening 
we ran the rear of the enemy into Knoxville in beautiful 
style, not giving them time to take a position before driv- 
ing them off. Some of our brigade engaged them that 
evening. The next day we formed and after a brisk en- 
gagement with the skirmishers the 3d dashed forward 
and took the disputed hill ; we followed and going some 
distance beyond the 3d gained a ravine, we were brought 
under a cross fire in taking it, in which Colonel Kennedy 
who had just recovered from wounds received at Gettys- 
burg was again wounded; a nice furlough wound. He is 
a very unfortunate and at the same time fortunate man. 
He has been wounded several times. Before the skirm- 
ish he was struck in the breast with a spent ball. Lieuten- 
ant Fishburne who had been assigned to the command 
of our company was also wounded; for the second time I 
was left in command of the company; at Chickamauga 
our 2d lieutenant was killed, our 3rd has been sick at 
home since we left R. ; and the captain and 1st lieutenant 
each have a limb off and are prisoners in Yankeedom. We 
had three men killed and eight or nine wounded. The 3rd 
had about eieht killed and forty wounded ; I don't know the 
loss of the other regiments. Ever since then we have been 
at hard work living in the trenches right under the Yankee 
fort, digging at night, reconnoitering in the day without 

The University Magazine 319 

being relieved. I had the misfortune to have my blanket 
and oilcloth stolen and have been without a thing until the 
last day or two in the shape of covering. Day before 
yesterday we had orders to move quietly and under cover 
to the picket lines. We started but the order was counter- 
manded. That night just as we had got to sleep we were 
roused up. The 2nd, 8th, and 3rd Batt. were formed as 
skirmishers and at a signal we started forward with the 
rest of Division on the left of us ; wading a creek we soon 
came on the Yankee posts which we ran in with a yell and 
a few shots; after advancing as close to the fort as neces- 
sary, we dug rifle pits and there lay until morning. I 
think it was decidedly the most miserable night I ever 
spent ; we had waded a creek in the early part of the night 
and were not near a fire and ice thick on the ground; if 
we could have kept in motion it would have been better 
but we were obliged to remain quiet as possible and it was 
a night of suffering I never before experienced. When 
daylight came the ball opened; in advancing our brigade 
had been thrown a good deal to the right of the fort and 
the rest of the Division immediately in front, so for once 
it devolved upon us to hold our position while the rest 
stormed the fort; other formidable works were in front 
of us and all could not be assailed at once. We had been 
shelled severely for some time before day. At daylight our 
guns behind us opened rapidly, it was just dark enough to 
trace the flight of the shells ; at the same time the infantry 
advanced ; in a few minutes the Yankees could be seen in 
full flight and clambering inside the fort, then we saw 
our men come up and jump into the ditch, the walls were 
very steep and we could see the men assisting each other 
up, many gained the top but were shot or taken pris- 
oners, enough could not get up at a time ; the walls of the 
forth were wreathed with a sheet of flame, suddenly the 
firing stopped. The whole thing did not seem to last half 

320 The Univebsity Magazine 

an hour; we were repulsed in one of the most gallant 
charges I ever beheld, it was a most magnificent spectacle. 
Our loss was severe ; one colonel was killed on the top, two 
others were killed; we were relieved from the front line 
and allowed to come back. We still hold the line we fixed. 
It is said that Longstreet attacked because he received a 
dispatch from Bragg stating he was falling back and that 
he must follow ; of course then Longstreet had to do some- 
thing; wagons were sent back and everything indicated a 
retreat. Since then we hear that Longstreet has a dispatch 
stating that Bragg has succeeded in drawing out Thomas 
and after a hard fight whipped him. It looks reasonable as 
all the wagons are ordered back to us. To attempt a de- 
scription of my feelings on account of our failure, would 
be impossible; I adore General Longstreet as much as ever 
and believe the fort can be taken ; though not disheartened 
I am mortified and chagrined and every time I look at the 
fort have a deeper hatred than ever of the Yankees. I 
look upon fighting as a hard and disagreeable necessity, 
but hope we may yet tumble the thieves. We can at least 
starve them out. 

The University Magazine 321 

Unfcer a Wivtooto at ©aton 


Oh, awake thee, my love, for the dawn's breaking fast, 

And a soft light is bathing the hills ; 
All the joy of the morn since the long night is past 

Like old wine through my soul strangely thrills. 
There are sweet luring scents floating by on the air, 
And the wild heart of nature throbs true everywhere. 

There's a glow in the heavens that you and I know, 

And a bird singing high in a tree ; 
There are dreams where the violets and primroses blow 

That a yearning can never let be. 
There are dewdrops of silver on every wee flower, 
And the soft-throated thrush sings away in her bower. 

We will wander away where the wild lilies blow, 

And the daisies are starring the lea ; 
Where the bluebell is yielding, with face bending low, 

To her lover, the wild honey-bee. 
Oh, awake from thy slumbers, we must not delay, 
For the great world is waking to laughter and play. 

322 The University Magazine 




Gretchen — A young girl whose father was German ; 
whose mother was French. 

Joseph — Gretchen's brother, who is fighting for France. 

Uncle — A German peasant kept at home by lameness. 


Scene — Near border in a German peasant's home. 
Gretchen is clearing the table, as her uncle sits cleaning 
his gun. 

Scene I 

Uncle (He sings in a rich voice "The Fatherland/' 
as he works. He raises the gun as though he is taking 
aim) — Mem Gott ! — if I could only use it for the Father- 
land. Oh ! — it is Hell to be lame in time of war — to 
watch the strong men go marching — marching by — to sit 
at home with the women and children. (He pauses.) 
But I shall be watching and waiting for a chance and 
some day a chance will come to me at home to serve the 

(Gretchen has paused in her work. She has a far 
away look in her eyes.) 

Uncle — Why are you so dreamy, Gretchen ? You do 
your work as though you were half asleep. 

Gretchen — I — I don't know, Uncle. I — 

Uncle — Oh ! you are like your mother ; she was that 
way — sometimes, so still, so quiet — and then again she 
was all fire. Who could understand her? Your father 
did not till the day she died. He was German; she was 

The University Magazine 323 

Gretchen — But he loved her till the day he died. 

Uncle — There you go again. I see what is the matter 
with you. You talk of love — love — you still refuse to 
marry for the sake of your country. Have you no love for 
your country Have you no respect for my wishes ? 
Haven't I given you board and keep ? 

Gretciien — And hasn't God given me a soul ? 

Uncle — Oh ! it is no use talking with you — hut you 
shall serve your country. I shall go now to make arrange- 
ments and tomorrow when the young women go up to 
marry for their country, you shall go too. 

(He walks toward door. He pauses for an instant.) 
Your father's daughter should be proud to serve his coun- 
try. (He goes out.) 

Gretciien — I am my mother's daughter, too. (She 
falls in chair. Her head falls forward on her arms.) 

[At a door or window in the rear of room the huge 
figure of War appears. He is dressed in black armor ; he 
stands grim and gaunt. Softly, voices are heard singing 
to the plaintive music of Kingsley's "Three Fishermen," 
"For men must fight, and women must weep." They hum 
the rest of the music and end with the line, "For men 
must fight and women must weep."] 

Gretchen (who has slowly raised her head) — Who, in 
God's name, are you ? 

[The figure of War slowly disappears. She sits staring 
intently toward where he stood. There is a door on one 
side of room. Some one fumbles with the latch. The 
door opens and a young man stumbles in. There is blood 
on his coat. Gretchen springs toward him with a muffled 

Gretchen — My brother ! What are you doing here ? 

Joseph — Oh ! Gretchen, I have been fighting for 
France. Today the Germans came upon us — afterwards 

324 The University Magazine 

I was almost captured — I thought I saw a way out — I 
crept along — a German officer saw me — he shot — 

Gretchen — Oh ! — You are not hurt, Joseph ? 

Joseph — It barely grazed my shoulder. But this man 
is after me now — Oh ! Gretchen, if I can only get by him, 
I can get to France tonight. 

[The voice of the uncle is heard singing "The Father- 
land," as he approaches.] 

Gretchen (wildly excited) — Oh! it will never do for 
my uncle to see you here. (She pushes him toward a 
closet which is built in wall under the cupboard. She 
tries to appear busy, as her uncle enters.) 

Uncle — How now, Gretchen, I'll warrant you have 
done no work while I've been gone. Where is my oil I 
use in cleaning my pistol? (starting toward closet). Isn't 
it in the closet here under the cupboard ? 

Gretchen (with nervous start) — Oh, no, Uncle, it is 
up stairs — I am quite sure it is up stairs. 

Uncle — Where 'bouts up stairs? I wish you'd get 
yourself in hand, Gretchen. It gets on my nerves the way 
you act here lately. 

Gretchen — You will find all of your things in the old 
chest, uncle. (He goes up stairs.) 

[In a few minutes an officer enters.] 

Officer — I have been after a man for several hours. 
I think I have traced his steps here. I wish to search the 

Gretchen — There is no need to search the place, I 
will tell you frankly he is here. 

Officer — I wish him delivered to me. 

Gretchen — Do you know that the man who is here is 
my brother ? 

Officer — I cannot consider that in war. 

The University Magazine 325 

Gretchen — He is only a boy. He was in France at 
school when the war broke out. He went with the others 
— they all went — to feed the cannon. 

Officer — I cannot listen to this. 

Gretchen — But you must listen ! My mother was 
French. She sang us the "Marseillaise," my father sang 
us "The Watch on the Rhine." One was the Fatherland 
— one was the Motherland — what could we know of war ? 
Why, my brother is only nineteen. He's just a boy. 

Officer — I understand, but I cant — 

Gretchen — Don't say you can't. Don't you know that 
if you take him, someone will accuse him of being a spy — 
and they will shoot him like a dog. Tomorrow they will 
make me marry for the country — but they shall not touch 
the boy. 

Officer — Does your uncle know the boy is here ? 

Gretchen — ~No, and he must not. He will come down 
presently — you will tell him that you have come for him 
to help in the village — you two will go to the village — and 
my brother will go to France. 

[The uncle is heard coming down the steps. Gretchen 
faces the officer pleadingly.] 

Uncle — Why, what's this? Oh, this is the man who 
will claim you for a bride tomorrow, Gretchen. Young 
woman, you should be the proudest girl in the village. It 
is not long till you will be the wife of a German officer. 

[Gretchen starts and shrinks back.] 

Uncle — Well, I'm off. I'll leave you two alone. 

Officer (slowly) — I cannot fail in my duty to my 
country. Open the door. 

[Gretchen obeys. The officer stands with drawn re- 
volver as the boy comes out. There is a tense silence as 
he handcuffs the boy.] 

326 The University Magazine 

Gretchen (passionately) — And tomorrow you marry 
me — again yon serve yonr country. 

[Officer goes out with boy.] 

[Gretchen falls into chair. Her head falls forward on 
her arms. The figure of War appears in back of room. 
Voices sing softly, "Men must fight, and women must 

Gretchen (raising her head and looking toward the 
dark figure) — I know you now! 

The University Magazine 327 

{Co Jfflp Home 


We leave the well beloved place 
Where first we gazed upon the shy, 
The roofs that heard our earliest cry 

Will shelter one of stranger race. 


Farewell, dear home, shrine of my heart, 
Where first I saw the light of day, 
And whiled the hours of youth away — 

For now, as man, I must depart ! 

You are, indeed, no stately pile, 
But nestling home beneath the trees, 
They who are made by vagrant breeze 

To sing, or murmur all the while. 

'Tis here has burned that well-loved fire, 

The fire upon the home hearthstone; 
Whose warmth defies the cold wind's moan. 
And wakes a home-sick man's desire. 


The parting with thee, dear old place, 
Is like the parting of old friends, 
Who wish that all their journeys' ends 

Might not be two, but end one race. 

But since they know that cannot be, 

They stand and hold each other's hands, 
While dead old days of Time's spent sands 

Are made to live in memory. 

'Tis thus I seem to live old days, 
When I was just a barefoot boy, 
I seem to live old past-gone joy, 

I gently thrust aside Time's haze. 

328 The Univebsity Magazine 


There come to me sweet memories 

Of my three brothers, they who seemed 
So dear ; and more of her who dreamed 

So nobly here beneath the trees. 

How dear was she, who'd gently do 
Jnst deeds of love for other's joy, 
Who spoiled me when I was a boy. 

Would that I had a heart so true ! 

I'm thankful these are all still here, 
But how we loved the one who's gone, 
She it was who made home home, 

We loved her more each passing year. 

And all I have of good I owe 

To her dear care, and loving plan. 
She lived a short, and busy span, 

A sacrifice of love to show. 

As sometimes in the twilight fair 
I walk among her flowers rare, 
Her gentle voice I seem to hear, 

It seems to me that she is there. 

She felt great joy in loveliness, 
That gentle flower-loving soul. 
Her mind was made in rarest mould, 

She placed in all kind trustfulness. 


And now farewell, our dear old home, 
Whose memories so enslave my heart. 
Although the time has come ! We part ! 

Deep in my heart you're always home! 

The University Magazine 329 

Computeorp Jfflilttarp ^erbtce 


Never before in the history of the world has there been 
such extensive, thorough and efficient military training 
as exists today. Whether this is commendable or whether 
it is unfortunate is not our concern, but that it exists, with 
the exception of ourselves, is a fact which commands 
our earnest consideration, and calls for some action upon 
our part to elevate us to the level of our neighbors in 
preparedness. The problem which confronts us is one of 
preparation, such that will make any antagonist hesitate 
before thrusting us into war. A proper and upright life 
does not protect an individual or a nation from aggression. 
The best people of the past have been the ones who have 
suffered martyrdom, and, even in our day, inoffensive 
nations have been crushed by the more powerful ones in 
whose way they happened to stand. This is a deplorable 
situation, but it is no less a fact. A defenseless nation 
cannot hold itself aloof and continue in peaceful existence, 
however much it may desire to do so, for there are count- 
less grounds for intrusion by other nations, more powerful 
and aggressive. It remains for the peaceful nation to 
clothe itself in an armor of preparedness, and by present- 
ing a formidable front to any lustful foe, discourage his 
boldness and aggression. 

This preparation rests upon a civilian force of men, in 
a state of readiness, trained in the science of war; it is 
conceded that this is essential to any preparation whatso- 
ever. Universal military service presents the most plau- 
sible method of developing a strong reserve of trained 
men for the protection of the nation. The system of the 
past has been unsatisfactory in all our wars. The volun- 
teer has failed us repeatedly in a time of need. A wave 

330 The University Magazine 

of patriotism usually flared up at first, bringing good men 
to the colors, but it invariably died out and other resources 
had to be tried out, drafting, bounty, and conscription. 
In a system of universal service there is no uncertainty 
as to who shall go, no shifting and changing about, but 
every man within his period of obligation must go. It 
means an efficient organization to be utilized in an emer- 
gency, while the volunteer system means a slow, uncertain, 
generally insufficient, and far from prompt acquisition of 
soldiers. A system of this type is advisable from every 
standpoint — that of national defense, unity, and the de- 
velopment of the physical and moral qualities of the peo- 

What is real democracy ? It is the principle of absolute 
equality, the principle that equality of opportunity and 
privilege go hand in hand with equality of obligation, 
whether in peace or at war. The theory that protection 
rests upon a large standing army has passed, and every- 
where the tendency is toward small regular armies, but 
thorough training for all. Switzerland is as democratic a 
country as there is on earth, being free from any vestige of 
militarism. She has been pointed out as the perfect ex- 
ample of a democracy. Yet every physically capable man 
is prepared to render efficient military service in time of 
need. This illustration well shows the fallacy of the idea 
that universal service develops militarism and is undemo- 
cratic. It is the basis of a real democracy, being, in fact, 
an enemy of militarism. The principle is just and equit- 
able. It realizes that one of the most binding obligations 
of a citizen is their protection as a whole, through the 
protection of the nation and the preservation of its rights. 
It knows no class, no discrimination ; the rich go as well as 
the poor, the slothful as well as the ardent. It renders 
unnecessary the large permanent army and puts the regu- 
lar force upon a peace basis. It is the effective means of 

The University Magazine 331 

producing the armies necessary for modern warfare and 
consequently the best insurance against the predaceous 
nation and our scorned rights. 

The chief argument against this system comes from a 
class who would desire the volunteer method, chiefly that 
they may have the option of entering the service or staying 
out. They do not intend to serve in case of war and in 
order to hide their cowardice advance the argument of the 
volunteer. It is the coward and the shirker who will pre- 
fer a system that permits the better man to do his duty for 
him. His attitude is the real undemocratic one, and the 
one to be shunned. This fighting against adequate train- 
ing works for real danger in the form of national unpre- 
paredness and inefficiency. The unfortunate thing is not 
that we may be swept into militarism, but that, in wrang- 
ling among ourselves and neglecting our duty, we may 
not be in a position to ward off the aggressor. 

Our present need, after so many years of quiet and in- 
action, is for an awakening, a new birth of patriotism and 
loyalty, of the sense of responsibility resting upon us as 
citizens, of our duty to the country. That this spirit does 
not exist is not true, but that it is dormant is apparent. It 
is military training that will lead to this reawakening, that 
will introduce this desired responsibility, this spirit of 
self-sacrifice and devotion. 

At the present moment, we are confronted with the ne- 
cessity of raising immediately a large army with which 
to take part in the war. Naturally the question arises 
whether this shall be accomplished by permitting voluntary 
enlistment, or by utilizing the more drastic means of con- 
scription. Shall we follow our old ideal of individual 
liberty and call for volunteers ? That would leave it to 
the choice of each person to decide whether he cared to 
have a part in the fight and would take no account of 
whether he might not be more useful as he is now occu- 

332 The Univebsity Magazine 

pied. Tlie other method attempts, by selective conscrip- 
tion, to secure the service of the man most fittted and 
most easily spared from the walks of industry. No ele- 
ment of discrimination enters into the plan, but it is con- 
cerned with the practical task of organizing an army larger 
than the country has ever before had occasion for, and 
without dislocating the laborers in the industries which 
are furnishing and must continue to furnish ourselves and 
our allies with needed supplies. Obviously this task would 
be almost impossible if left to the makeshift, uncertain 
method of voluntary enlistment. The fact is, and it has 
been well illustrated within the year, that in a modern, 
national war, no man can remain unaffected; everyone 
must do his part, willingly or otherwise. Since this is 
true, it were well that the efficient, productive methods 
of conscription be utilized at the start, and not be resorted 
to after a waste of time and a loss of enthusiasm. 

It is to be hoped, then, that Congress will adopt the 
advice of the president and proceed to raise the army upon 
the assumption that every one is liable to serve. But 
every American community must at this time face the 
question and become familiar with the prospect, so that 
when the summons comes, there will be a minimum of 
hesitancy and objection. 

But we should hold in mind that when the emergency 
has passed and international law has supplanted inter- 
national anarchy^ the opposition to conscription as a 
permanent policy will return in full power. It should, 
nevertheless, expand its policy to one of special prepara- 
tion of each youth, and a liability for service at definite 
ages, so that whatever the future should have in store, we 
may be prepared for any emergency. 

The University Magazine 333 


(With Apologies to Goldsmith) 

When young man encounters folly, 
Reveals his love, is answered nay, 

What art can soothe his melancholy, 
What charm can take his grief away ? 

The only art his grief to cover 

To hide the wound from every eye, 

And stop the brooding for this lover 
Is — win a neighbor girl near by. 

— Bryce Little. 


1. My professor is my teacher, I shall not deny it. 

2. He maketh me write down quizzes in blue books ; he 
assigneth me many papers to hand in to him. 

3. He restoreth my papers and blue books after he 
hath made many marks on them. He leadeth me over the 
same books of former students for the course's sake. 

4. Yea, though I study the book from beginning to 
end, I will make no "ones"; for thou doth know me; thy 
pen and thy pencil they grade me. 

5. Thou prepareth an examination for me in the pres- 
ence of my fellow students : thou filleth my head with 
facts, my brain runneth over. 

6. Surely knowledge and wisdom will follow me all 
the days of my life, and I will dwell in the mind of my 
professor forever. 

— L. H. Jobe. 

334 The University Magazine 


Perhaps I had no business there ; it was indeed a lonely 
spot. But anyway, there I was, and there I saw what hap- 
pened. She was alone and probably thought herself un- 
observed. I wondered at her actions, for she had entered 
a low, whitish-looking structure and there (I cannot ex- 
plain my sensations when I think of it) she now laid a 
still, white form beside those which had gone before. 
Hardly a sound was to be heard. Not a .sob, not a sigh 
forced its way from her heart, which was throbbing as 
though it would burst. Suddenly a cry broke the stillness 
of the place, — one heart-rending shriek, and then all was 
hushed. There was another cry. Then all was still except 
a low guttural murmur that seemed to well up from her 
very soul. She left the place. No doubt she would lay 
another egg on the morrow. 

— L. S. Lashmit. 


After the day's work is done, you go out into the flower 
garden and sit through the twilight until it is time to go to 
bed. There amid the heavy scenes of the jessamines and 
roses, you drink in the mystical beauty of a Carolina sum- 
mer evening. The sun has been set a good half hour. 
The whole of the western sky is a pale orange color, and 
the light of the dying day shining against the clouds heaped 
up in the east turns them into castles of fire. The orange 
and red run together in a deep blue in the middle of the 
sky. As twilight comes on, the whole deepens into violet. 
All the world is at peace. Somewhere far-away a sheep 
bell tinkles musically. From the negro cabin across the 
field comes the sound of a harmonica, interrupted now and 
then by low, mellow laughter. The whippoorwill begins 
in a hillside thicket. You hear the shrill noise of the katy- 

The University Magazine 335 

did. Bats fly zigzag, catching insects. In the swamp the 
bull frogs boom away, ea°h one trying to outdo his fellow. 
A mocking bird twitters somewhere. The darkness deep- 
ens. One by one the stars flash out. 

— Paul Green. 


Calcutta has nothing on us ; we have a modern "black- 
hole." One has only to enter our postoffice at mail time 
to be convinced. Of course imprisonment therein is vol- 
untary, 'but the sufferings are no less real. Once inside, 
one finds himself one of a maddened, jolting mass of suf- 
fering prisoners, crowded into a space far too small to 
contain one-tenth their number comfortably, mocked by 
the smile of the keeper, crazed with the heat, and fighting 
over the general delivery of mail. He struggles to get to 
his little glass window. He gasps for air, and resists with 
all his might the crushing forces all about him. Finally 
he reaches his window, hoping to find relief there in a letter 
from his lady friend or in a check from father. But his 
spirits drop, for once he has worked the combination, he 
finds only the daily paper and a notice of "box rent due." 
He cares not now what his fate may be ; he gives himself 
up to the surging human mass, and counts it luck if he 
again finds himself in the light of day. 

— L. S. Lashmit. 


About eight o'clock the Pick is out, and in pours a 
throng of young men to wait until the completion of put- 
ting up the mail gives them an incentive to start the rush. 
There is a great hubbub. The men talking and laughing 
and scraping their feet on the cement floor. Tobacco 
smoke fills the air. Fellows are lined up against the wall 

336 The University Magazine 

waiting for the sign "Letters Up" to be raised. In a few 
minutes up it goes. Every one looks anxiously into his 
box — for how shall he know that he will get no mail? 
And then he turns his face toward the door. But lo ! The 
onrush of his fellow students pushes him to one side. 
Three or four men bump into him as though going against 
an opposing football team, and pass on by. Over against 
the wall stand a half dozen fellows so interested in what 
their girls have written that they are unconscious of the 
conflict. In a short while something cracks. The boys are 
pushing each other helter skelter, against the walls on 
both sides and behind, and another gang is making a mad 
rush for the door. Every one is jolly and enjoying him- 
self. Now everything grows quiet, and it's all over. Di- 
rectly the place is deserted except for a few men who are 
reading the evening papers or chatting about some college 
activity and a co-ed is able to get her mail without any 

— S. H. Willis. 


Nightfall on the fourth of July, 1916, found a lone 
individual from North Carolina on the Case farm four- 
teen miles from Alva, Oklahoma. The day had been cele- 
brated by a long and arduous parade up and down the 
harvest field in a big red- wheeled barge, beneath a scorch- 
ing red sun, after a big header of azure hue. 

And now sank the glowing orb like an egg falling into a 
frying pan. The lowing herd stayed out in the waste ex- 
panse, called pasture lands, as lowing herds always do in 
Oklahoma, in summer. 

The horses, however, had to be attended to — they had 
to work the next day. The branch where they imbibed the 

The University Magazine 337 

aquatic liquid was a quarter of a mile down the steepest 
hill you ever saw. 

One's feet are very tired by 7 :30 P. M. The hero de- 
cided to ride ! 

"Slim" said, "That red hoss yander is a good rider." 
The "boss" said nothing. The "hoss" was a four-year-old 
half-broncho, half-Minnesota gelding. He had never been 
mounted. Our hero knew it not ! 

The day had been tiresome to "Bones." So, with a 
"foot" from "Jem," the mount was easy. Bones was tired 
I say. The descent of the precipitous and rocky procliv- 
ity began immediately. Bones took on renewed energy 
as he began to feel the clammy, "gyppy" branch atmos- 
phere. He realized suddenly that some bold person had 
dared to essay his hitherto untried back ! 

Down the slope dashed the steed in dangerously circuit- 
ous convolutions. Our hero clung desperately to the 
animal's neck and to the rope which was around the same 
part of the beast. 

"Presto ! Change !" The four-year-old "bronch" stum- 
bled, and our hero shot precipitously into the yawning 
chasm beyond (as they do in books) which was caused by 
the lowering of the "hoss's" head. 

Thus was spoiled the first chance in the hero's life to 
become famous or extinct. 

Moral: When riding an Oklahoma "bronch" bareback 
never make your debut on the dizzy heights of a hill six- 
teen hundred miles from home where you can't possibly 
make a "hit" and where nobody would believe you if you 

— J. E. Harris. 

338 The University Magazine 

a narrow escape 

The American liner St. Louis, bound for Bordeaux, was 
feeling her way, slowly and carefully, through the dreaded 
German submarine zone off the English coast. The day 
was cold and foggy, and the passengers wore anxious and 
fearful looks. Suddenly, not far in the distance, one of 
Germany's dreaded messengers of death and destruction 
was seen to thrust its nose above the waves. A shot was 
fired across the steamer's bow, and a command to halt 
was given. The captain immediately gave orders to bring 
the only gun of the St. Louis, a five-inch rapid fire, into 
play. The submarine, perceiving that the steamer was 
going to resist, launched a torpedo. It came swiftly, 
cutting through the waves in a spray of white foam and 
leaving a trail of bubbles in its course. By skillful manip- 
ulation of the rudder, the pilot was able to bring the giant 
steamer around. This, coupled with bad marksmanship 
on the part of the Germans, caused the torpedo to miss by 
several yards. The steamer's gun was ineffective, and the 
Germans were preparing to launch a second torpedo. Sud- 
denly, the fog partially cleared away, and, a few seconds 
later, a mighty roar was heard, and the waters around the 
submarine seemed to leap into the air. Soon after, the 
American super-dreadnought Arizona came roaring up the 
channel, the stars and stripes waving proudly at her mast- 
head. She had slipped up through the fog unobserved, 
and a discharge from her forward battery had put an end 
to the submarine. On the spot where the submarine had 
previously stood was only a circle of surging waves as the 
pirates went to the grave intended for the passengers of 
the St. Louis. 

— Earl M. Spencer. 

The University Magazine 339 


"Hello, Bob ! Let's go for the mail. How you workin' 
these days ?" 

"Pretty good, Jimmie. I'm looking for a big time at 
the dances." 

"Got a girl comin' down ?" 

"!Naw. I'll have to use the other fellow's girl this 
spring. When your exchequer is shaky, that is the most 
satisfactory policy." 

"Yea, bo. The dances come high, but we gotta have 

"Jimmie, there's just one thing that's sort of worryin' 
me. Last night, as I was walking in back of the Library, 
a black cat scooted across my path. You know the old 
sayin'. I'm looking for something to happen any minute !" 

"Yes, that's just it. And the first unfavorable thing 
that does happen will be laid to the blame of that innocent 
little cat. I'm on to you superstitious boobs. You're half- 
way anxious for something to happen, and in looking for- 
ward to it, you subconsciously help along the bad luck, 
whatever it is. You ought to crawl off and forget your 
signs and omens." 

"Look here, Jimmie, don't talk to me about super- 
stitions. I've seen them work too often. And a black cat ! 
Why, that sign has never failed to operate." 

"O, yuh big baby ! All imagination ! Why, how do 
you know the cat was black ! You can't tell a cat's color at 
night !" 

"Well, they have a moon in Chapel Hill, don't they? 
I saw that cat plainly in the moonlight. It was a bad sign 
and you can't argue me out of it." 

"Aw, tell it to Rudy ! You and your notions give me a 
pain. Let me know what dire misfortune overtakes you, 
Knight of the Black Cat ! I'm going to dinner." 

340 The University Magazine 

Two days later, Jimmie met Bob and jeeringly observed, 
"Well, I see you're still in one piece. Black cat hasn't 
begun to work yet, eh ?" 

"Well," Bob came back, "there's no time limit. Every- 
thing, however, has gone smoothly for the last few days 
and I'm beginning to think nothing will happen this time." 

"That's the proper spirit. Say, are you goin' to the 
dance at the Gym tonight ? Yes ? What time you goin' to 
get there ? Huh ? Yeah, I think 10 o'clock is about the 
right time to go. Things will be warmed up by then, I 
reckon. Well, I'll see you down there. S'long." 

That night, Bob, resplendent in a new dress suit, started 
toward the Gym, whistling a dance tune. As he was pass- 
ing by under South Building, a deluge of aqua, cold, rather 
damp, and disconcerting, dropped itself over him and his 
dress suit. Quantity was not lacking. The heavens above 
seemed anxious to relieve themselves of several pitchers 
full. The water got in all of its dirty, (or shall we say 
clean?) work before Bob could sputter his way clear. A 
hasty search on his part failed to reveal the cause of the 
waterfall. Let us ship Bob's conversation for the present. 

A while later, after he had retreated in disorder, Jim- 
mie came down out of South, whistling innocently. 

"Yes," he muttered to himself, "Bob would have been 
awfully disappointed if his pet superstition had gone 
back on him !" 



The sun had traversed half of its course and was at the 
climax of its sultry heat, when high and far away in the 
hazel distance of the pale blue, could indistinctly be seen 
several small dry-weather clouds. Not like Wordsworth's 
"Trailing Clouds of Glory," but like withered white water 
lilies on some broad and stagnant pond of the sunny South, 

The Univeesity Magazine 341 

they floated or slept, as it were, on the heated bosom of the 
sky. Not far beneath them, almost lost in the white blue- 
ness, could dimly be seen a group of buzzards, circling 
slowly upwards in an unconscious and dreamy manner, as 
though they wished to escape the oppressive heat below in 
the valley by hiding above mountain tops in the upper cur- 
rents of the air. An eagle sitting on a prominent spur of 
the mountain, with an eye that the sun could not dim, 
watched from his lofty tower every movement in the little 
clearing far below. Nature, forgetful of her duty, bowed 
her noble head in obeisance to the excessive tyranny of the 
sun, as if she may catch a moment of repose. The leaves 
of the verdant grass and the broad forked leaves of the 
blossoming cotton lowered their tips to the scorching heat 
that prevailed in the valley; the foliage of the trees that 
stood around the edge of the clearing, appeared withered 
and sickly as if their earthly connection had been severed, 
the robin and bluebird, having long given up their search 
for the worm in the freshly stirred soil, had fled to the 
cooler air of the roaring mountain river. Across the little 
clearing here in the midst of the mountain, the heat rose 
in zigzag lines from the pebble soil. The old, black, 
blazefaced family mule, the perspiration steaming from 
his side, tugged heavily at the old-fashioned plow between 
the rows of drooping cotton. Slower and slower the poor 
old beast pulled away until he must need stop if he became 
any slower. The barefoot lad in his patched pantaloons 
of broad-cloth, sheltered from the world by the massive 
walls of neighboring mountains, had followed the plow 
since early morning. He whistled his wild and merry 
tune of mountain lore no longer; the freshness of the 
morning had given away to feverish weariness ; he too, like 
the bird, would love to seek a shade by the mountain 
stream. He allowed himself to be drawn slowly and drow- 
sily along by his faithful co-worker in the heaving heat. 

342 The University Magazine 

Suddenly the welcome horn sounded from the house top 
up the valley, proclaiming the glad tidings that it was 
dinner time. The eagle upon the mountain spur napped 
his wings, gave one long piercing scream, and sailed to- 
ward the west. The poor old mule stopped spontaneously 
with the sound of the horn. Silently, but quickly, the 
boy took on new life, unhitched the mule from the plow, 
jumped on the beast's back, and turned his face homeward, 
— weary from his hard and dusty toil, but with a smiling 
face and glard heart to greet his mountain mother. 

— E. H. Cureie. 


(Being an Account of an Ideal Love Affair on Any Street) 
His Lovesick Soliloquy on a Day in May 

"Blow, little breezes, 

Tell her that I love her — 
Soft little squeezes, 

Wonder would they move her. 
Blow her golden ringlets 

Down, a shower of gold, 
Danae never saw such 

In the days of old. 
Blow, little breezes, 

Tell her that I love her — 
My heart ! An Israf eli 

With his lyre can't move her. 

"Sing, merry robin, 

All the long, long day; 
Say, my heart is throbbing 

With pain since she's away. 
Tell her that I whisper 

To your knowing face; 

The University Magazine 343 

How my dreams forever 

One sweet pattern trace, 
Sing, merry robin, 

Tell her how I love her. 
Alas! I hardly think 

An Orpheus could move her. 

"Oh, why is she so cruel 

And will not care for me? 
I think I'll fight a duel 

Or go across the sea. 
Sometimes I meet her swinging 

Her bookstrap far and high; 
She looks off in the distance 

And silently goes by. 
But once I thought she murmured, 

Murmured soft and low, 
My name — I was mistaken, 

She would not do it, I know." 

The Sequel of Course 

Last night the old moon saw upon the lawn 
Two figures deep in conversation drawn. 
He told her of the lore in books, 

Of stranger things beyond the sea. 
At last she said, with teasing looks, 

"Please tell a tale ; lei all that be." 
He whispered in her tiny ear, 
Set among the rings of gold, 
"Will you, will you listen, dear, 
This is the story never told ? 

"Now why were you so cruel, sweet, 
In the days we used to meet ?" 


344 The University Magazine 

She whispered with averted face — 
Such is a maiden's modest grace — 
"Why, silly boy, don't you know? 
I dared not speak, I loved you so." 

The mad moon hurried far into the west. 
What happened then ? — My son, beware the rest. 

— P. E. Green.